


The Uninvited Guest

by IvyDevoss



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angel Castiel, Angst, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Supernatural AU: Not Hunters
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-29
Updated: 2013-07-19
Packaged: 2017-12-16 13:25:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 19
Words: 31,742
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/862518
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IvyDevoss/pseuds/IvyDevoss
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU: The newly-created angel Castiel fell from Heaven right into Dean Winchester’s backyard. Into his pool, to be precise. And then he decided to stay.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This idea just hit me like a bolt from the blue, and I cranked the entire thing out in four days. Had no idea it was going to get this big, or this angsty. But don’t worry: there’s plenty of fluff too, and I promise you a happy ending! (Rated T for language.)

The angel Castiel fell on October twenty-second, in Campbell, California. Or, more accurately: _into_ Campbell, California. No one noticed his fall from Heaven––and why should they? He was only an extra angel.

Due to a slight mix-up in the Heavenly paperwork, he had gone unregistered. According to the record-keepers, the last angel created would be named Qaphsiel. Someone had absently muttered, _Isn’t that a variation on Cassiel?_ And someone else had muttered back, only half paying attention: _What? Castiel? I don’t think so..._

But even the vaguest intentions of Heaven’s inhabitants have strong creative force hidden within them, and because of this conversation that was hardly even a conversation, one extra angel had accidentally popped into existence. The officials were busy welcoming Qafsiel (there are often last-minute spelling changes in Heaven––which, incidentally, explains a great deal of the theological confusion that’s taken place on Earth over the past couple of thousand years, but we won’t get into that now). They didn’t notice the other angel, the brand new and quite unintended Castiel, gazing around with surprised blue eyes.

Castiel wasn’t sure where he was, but it was lovely. He drifted over a cloud and saw with wonder that there was a beautiful long shining stretch of light before him. Being curious, as any newborn creature has a right to be, he followed it without a second thought. And without a first thought, either, for that matter. He had only just been made, after all; he didn’t really need to be thinking yet. And if he had happened to be thinking anything at this point, he might have changed his mind about following the long road of light, and this story might have turned out quite differently.

But he didn’t think. He just floated happily downwards and forwards, and in doing so, quite unknowingly fell from Heaven. And as we mentioned before, nobody noticed. Well, that is, nobody in Heaven noticed. And of the six billion, seven hundred and forty-nine million, sixteen thousand two hundred and twenty-five people on Earth at that precise moment, only one of them noticed.

***

Dean Winchester pulled into his driveway with a heavy sigh. It was 6:19 p.m. and he was just getting home from a long and exhausting day at the garage. He loved his work, and he was proud of it––even though it didn’t exactly match up to his little brother’s law studies, but there was no jealousy there, he was proud of Sammy too––but sometimes there were just days when everything went wrong. Today had been one of those days. Not big stuff, even; just little things that piled up all day and left him feeling ready to punch a wall by the time he’d revved up his Baby and pulled out of there at six on the dot.

Normally Dean liked to hang out and shoot the shit with Bobby and the guys for a while after his shift was over, but today he’d felt the need to get out of there ASAP. The combination of everything at once––not one, not two, but three perfectionist customers this afternoon; a worryingly malfunctioning hydraulic jack; and a _stupid_ moment of inattentiveness that had left him bent awkwardly over the sink rinsing machine oil out of his eye for a good fifteen minutes––had added up to make today one of the worst days he’d had in a while.

Dean got out of the car, his treasured ‘67 Impala, shut the door gently (even when he was furious he would never slam his Baby’s doors), and stood there for a moment gingerly rubbing his eye. It still stung like a motherfucker. He blinked hard and felt tears well up in the eye again, his body’s attempt at cleansing itself. _Son of a bitch._ He hoped that oil didn’t have any nasty poisonous stuff in it that would end up blinding him. A one-eyed mechanic wouldn’t be much good. Judging distance was a vital part of his work. A glance at his right hand showed him that there was still a smear of oil on the silver ring he always wore. _Great, I’ve probably wiped even more of the stuff in my eye now._

With a sigh, he trudged up the path and into his house. Yeah, he liked his job okay. The work was fine, not thrilling stuff (he’d rather have his own business restoring classic cars) but he was good at it, and the pay was enough that he’d been able to buy his own little house after following Sam out to California when the kid got accepted to Stanford. He’d been lucky to find this job at Singer Auto in Campbell, just half an hour away from the university. It was far enough that Sam could have his own social life and not feel like his big brother was looming over him, but close enough so that the two of them could get together for a beer whenever they felt like it. Which generally ended up being about once a week.

Speaking of beer, that was all that was on Dean’s mind as he got inside, pulled off his work boots, and made a beeline for the refrigerator. It was at that very moment that a tremendous CRASH came from the backyard. It was lucky that Dean hadn’t had a bottle in his hand yet, or it would definitely have smashed on the floor when he jumped and cursed reflexively. He froze for a moment, all senses racing as he tried to regain mental balance, and then quickly moved towards the door that led out onto the deck.

Beyond the small deck and the strip of grass that passed for a yard was one of the primary reasons Dean had chosen this house: a big above-ground pool. On top of the pool, since the weather had been rather chilly for the past few weeks, was the winter pool cover, now severely dented in the middle. And sprawled on top of the ruined pool cover was a naked man, face-down and unmoving.


	2. Chapter 2

“Shit. Holy shit,” Dean breathed. He stood absolutely still for a moment, his heart racing. Then his brain started functioning again, and he tugged open the sliding screen door and flew across the deck, down the three steps, and over to the pool. As he got there, the man slowly propped himself up on his elbows and looked around with a dazed expression.

“Fuck, dude!” Dean burst out. “Who are you? What happened? What the hell––are you all right? What are you doing in my pool? I’ll... I’ll call the police if you don’t...” His voice faltered. Yes, the man was evidently an intruder, but his stunned expression and lack of any clothing whatsoever made him somewhat less than intimidating. He stared at Dean with huge blue eyes that couldn’t have looked more innocent if they’d belonged to a kitten. He had unruly dark hair and a pretty average, slender but athletic physique. A good-looking guy, not what you’d expect a housebreaker to look like. And anyway... they generally wore clothes, didn’t they?

Dean’s first reaction of prickly self-defense was quickly fading, to be replaced by an uncomfortable irritation as he realized this was probably some crazy homeless guy. Hopefully he wasn’t dangerous. At least it was obvious that he wasn’t carrying any weapons, Dean thought wryly, watching bemused as the fellow crawled awkwardly to the edge of the pool cover and peered down at the ground as if it were ninety miles away.

Dean knew he should go inside and call the police right now. But instead he found himself saying “Why did you break my pool cover?” He paused. “And for that matter, how? Those things are supposed to be able to hold up an elephant. I’ve seen the commercials.” He realized he was babbling, and abruptly cut himself off, before barking in a more suitable angry-homeowner tone: “Get off the pool already! And get off of my property!”

The man was still clinging to the edge of the pool, now no longer staring at the ground but rather around at Dean’s yard, still with the same pure, innocent fascination. Dean felt a sudden inexplicable shiver go through him. There was something wrong with this picture. He examined the pool cover. It was made of interlocking lightweight tiles, some new hybrid material that was supposed to flex and give while remaining firm enough to protect the pool. It definitely wasn’t supposed to shatter like glass. And yet that was exactly what had happened. It looked as if a jetliner had crashed into it.

Narrowing his eyes, Dean returned his attention to the mysterious man, who was now finally slipping his legs over the edge of the pool and very cautiously standing up on the grass. “How did you break that thing? Did you––did you fall out of an airplane or something? Why are you not hurt?”

The man turned his head and gazed at Dean.

“Hey, I’m talking to you, dude. You understand me?” Dean paused. “Can you talk at all? Habla, uh, Español?”

The man tipped his head slightly to one side and continued to stare at Dean.

“Great. Whatever. Well, come on, I’m not taking my eyes off you while I call the cops. Get along inside.” Not wanting to touch an insane naked stranger, Dean gestured brusquely to the steps up to the deck.

Unfortunately, the man didn’t seem to have the slightest idea what this meant. Instead of following the direction of the gesture, he peered closely at the gesturing hand.

This was such an odd reaction that Dean was quite taken aback. He pointed more obviously with a single finger. “There. House. Go.”

No response. Those unnervingly blue eyes stayed on him. Dean didn’t think the guy had blinked once this entire time.

“Fine, I’ll go first, but you’d better come along.” Dean walked up the steps and paused at the back door to glance over his shoulder.

The guy was _right there_. “Holy crap, dude!” Literally one step behind Dean. “Not cool! Definitely not cool! You are a major creeper.” Dean took a deep breath, stepped through the screen door he’d left open, and walked inside. This time he kept his peripheral vision on the stranger and watched how he obediently followed right behind Dean. Almost like a duckling following its mom, he found himself thinking. Freaky shit.

Without ever entirely turning his back on the guy, Dean crossed to the phone and grabbed it. His fingers hovered over the 9 button. For a solid minute he stood there, wondering why he wasn’t dialing yet.

“Hey!” he barked at the strange man. “What’s your name?”

The man turned his head slowly from where he’d been examining a photo on the wall, a picture of Sam and his girlfriend Jess that had been taken at the beach a couple of months ago. For a long moment, he gazed at Dean, who was struck by the utter lack of fear in the stranger’s face. He looked like he had no reason not to trust Dean completely. And for some reason, that was... well, it was getting to Dean. Somehow.

He swallowed and put down the phone. “My name is Dean,” he said slowly and clearly, in a calmer tone.

At the comparative gentleness of Dean’s voice, something seemed to light up in the man’s face. It was as if he were smiling with only his eyes. It made him look younger and more vulnerable. He took a hesitant step forward, and then stopped.

“What’s your name?” Dean asked for the second time. “Who are you?”

No answer. Just another head-tip, and that soft look in the eyes.

Dean huffed out a long breath, feeling as if the jumbled madness that had taken over during the past minutes was finally settling, like silt in a brackish pond, allowing his mind to clear itself again. He looked the guy up and down. “Listen, you... you need to put something on. This is just weird.”

The guy kept looking at him contentedly, for all the world like he’d paid ten bucks for a front-row ticket to stand there and hear Dean talk at him. It was indeed quite weird. And yet, it was already decidedly less creepy than it had been five minutes ago.

“Don’t... steal anything,” Dean muttered, the words sounding idiotic as soon as they’d left his lips. He didn’t know why, but for some reason he was absolutely certain robbery was the last thing on this guy’s mind. As he walked down the hallway to his bedroom to see if he could scrounge up some old clothes for the stranger, Dean wondered if there was anything on the guy’s mind at all. Perhaps he was mentally disabled. That was starting to look like the most probable explanation. And yet some part of him still wasn’t convinced by this argument.

A minute later he was back in the main room with an old t-shirt and some jeans and boxers. He’d been planning to turn the shirt into rags anyway. Not so much the other stuff. But this was an extraordinary situation, so he’d just have to sacrifice some of his own clothing for a good cause. It was better than having the guy continue to wander around stark naked. Although he did appear to be weirdly unselfconscious about it.

The reason for this very quickly became evident: the man had no concept of how to use clothing. He examined it with the same fascination he showed for everything else, but didn’t make any move to put it on. Dean groaned softly. He had really, really been hoping it wouldn’t come to this. But he was also becoming aware that someone could knock on his door at any minute, and if he didn’t answer, they might peek through the glass and make out the form of a naked man standing in Dean’s living room. Which, yeah. He didn’t want that to happen.

So, with a long-suffering sigh, Dean picked up the t-shirt and timidly approached the stranger. “Listen, I’m not gonna attack you or anything. I’m just going to put this over your head. Okay? It’s a shirt. So don’t, like, karate-chop me or bite me or anything.” He immediately regretted his words. _Shit. Shouldn’t have given the guy ideas._ Although to be fair, he didn’t seem to be comprehending much, if anything, of what Dean had been saying to him.

Dean rolled up the shirt so it was basically just a doughnut of cloth around the neck hole, and then, with a single pounce, forced it over the guy’s head.

To his amazement, the man barely started. He did blink, though, several times, in obvious shock at seeing Dean suddenly right in front of him holding a piece of cloth around his neck. In relief, Dean let out a small chuckle. “Wow. You actually, genuinely don’t know how clothes work. Where on earth did you come from? Are you an alien or something?”

Then Dean abruptly stopped talking, because the stranger’s expression was changing. His surprised confusion at Dean’s sartorial attack had faded, to be slowly replaced by a tentative yet unmistakable smile. His eyes had been on Dean’s mouth, watching him chuckle, and apparently he had been inspired to try something similar himself. But as Dean’s grin vanished, so did the other man’s. They stood there, eye to eye, tense and still.

Dean raised one eyebrow, and then purposefully stretched his lips in a smile again. This time the man followed suit immediately, delighted with this new game. His childlike pleasure infected Dean, who burst out into an honest belly laugh. This seemed to fill his uninvited guest with joy. He didn’t join in the laughter, but his face shone with happiness and wonder as he watched.

When Dean had gotten over his amusement––including a renewed surge of laughter when he looked up to see his companion standing there, still naked except for the rolled-up shirt around his neck, and gazing at him in fascination––he felt that a good amount of his nervousness had been drained away. It was time to finish the job.

Cautiously, but with more confidence than he’d felt earlier, he touched the other man’s arm in preparation to guide it into the sleeve. A tiny frown of concentration appeared on the man’s face, and he watched with interest as Dean gently finished putting the shirt on him. Feeling a bit foolish upon completing the task, Dean took a step backwards and rubbed his neck. “Uh, yeah. That’s how you put on a shirt. Y’know, just for future reference. You’d better remember this.” Was it his imagination, or had the guy given a tiny nod, with that serious expression still in place?

The boxers were easy––they had a very stretchy waist band, so once Dean had convinced the guy to step into them, he just had to hold them stretched open and pull them up (and he’d be lying if he didn’t admit that he let out a breath of relief once that part was done)––and the pants went similarly, except that he got the guy to sit down on a chair for the first part. Once he’d realized that he could touch the stranger without incurring a violent reaction, it turned out to be easiest if he just gently maneuvered him into any position necessary.

A hand on the guy’s chest lightly pushed him down into the chair (Dean noticed that the man didn’t even think of looking behind him to see where he was going, instead simply trusting Dean’s hands to guide him correctly), and a hand on his back encouraged him to stand up again once his legs were mostly in the pants. Dean felt a little awkward about zipping him up, but the stranger clearly shared no such inhibitions, which made it easier. It was almost like dressing a child, or a living doll. As creepy as that sounded.

Of course, Dean should have considered the psychological implications of dressing up the newcomer in his own clothing. But as it happened, he’d never studied psychology. All he knew was that now, standing in his living room looking at this big-eyed, silent, trusting man-child wearing his old things, he couldn’t understand how he’d ever been able to even consider calling the police and handing his charge over to them. Dean shook his head thoughtfully, looking the man up and down once more. “They wouldn’t have known what to do with you, buddy. They might have hurt you,” he mused, half to himself, and then let out a wry chuckle. “But what am I going to do with you?”

He had been too high on adrenaline for the past half-hour to remember his sore eye, but suddenly the stinging sensation returned, stronger than before, and along with it his earlier thirst for beer. Without a second thought Dean crossed to the fridge, rubbing his eye on the back of his hand, and grabbed two bottles. “Want a beer?” On automatic, he chucked one across to his companion, who raised a hand and caught it without any apparent effort. He hadn’t even really been looking at it. Dean whistled. “Nice reflexes there, buddy! You ever play baseball?” In the resulting silence, he grinned with a touch of embarrassment. “Oh, who am I kidding? You don’t know how to put on your own pants. I doubt you play sports.”

At the counter, he popped off the lid of his beer on the chipped ceramic edging with a practiced hand. He took a deep swallow of the refreshing liquid and let out a long sigh, setting down the bottle and bracing his hands on the countertop. “Man. What a day this has been.”

A sudden prickling sensation on the back of his neck caused Dean to turn quickly, and his heart almost stopped when he found the man standing right behind him. “Dude, you’ve gotta stop doing that,” he advised, after catching his breath.

The other man was frowning again, and he carefully lifted a hand towards Dean’s face. Dean tensed, but didn’t stop him. The man placed the palm of his hand gently over Dean’s swollen eye, looking like he was concentrating very hard. Then he lowered his hand. For a moment, neither of them was breathing. What the hell was the guy doing?

Slowly, a smile touched the stranger’s lips, a rather self-satisfied one this time. At the same moment, Dean became aware that his eye felt completely normal again. All the pain and puffiness had vanished, as if it had never been there. In its place, a soft delicious rush of tingling warmth flooded slowly down through his entire body, spreading out from where the hand had touched his skin, and flowing throughout him like liquid energy. He felt weightless, held in place only by two blue eyes shining in front of him, like anchors in the moment, the only thing keeping him from floating away.

There was a long moment of stunned silence in the house as Dean and his uninvited guest stood absolutely still, rather too close together, and a clock ticked. Then, in place of all the futile questions he’d been asking earlier, Dean whispered a new one: “ _What_ are you?”


	3. Chapter 3

Dean quickly realized there was nothing for it except to let the strange man stay the night. He felt an almost physical pang when he imagined leading the guy out the front door and then going back in and closing it behind him. The poor dude would probably stand out there all night and wait or something stupid like that, and who knows what the neighbors might think. It was more practical to let him sleep inside.

But tomorrow, Dean told himself as he dug around in the hall closet to find some extra sheets for the fold-out sofa bed, he would definitely take this guy somewhere. Not to the police station––part of him still recoiled at the thought. Maybe to a halfway house or something. There were surely people who could help. He’d figure something out. But he didn’t want to go out tonight, and since the stranger clearly wasn’t going anywhere on his own, Dean would have to make him up a bed. And cook him dinner, he supposed. How the hell had his life gotten this weird in the span of a single hour?

Emerging back into the main room, Dean saw that the guy was standing in the kitchen area, stroking the faucet. He paused and watched, not sure what to do. “Um... hey. Why are you... you know what, never mind.” Shaking his head, Dean dumped the sheets and pillowcases on a chair and set to work unfolding the sofa bed.

With spooky speed and silence, the man appeared right next to him, eyes glowing in anticipation of a new activity to observe. “Jesus! Do you teleport or some shit?!” Dean grumbled. Perhaps the weirdest thing about the whole situation was how quickly he was getting used to it. He hadn’t even jumped this time to find the stranger standing no more than a few inches away from him.

While he worked on turning the sofa into a bed, his guest watched closely, as if he were taking mental notes on the entire process. When he was done, Dean regarded his handiwork with satisfaction. “Okay, that ought to do you for tonight. Don’t get too comfortable, though. You’re not staying.” His stomach rumbled. “Man, I have got to eat something. You hungry?”

The man trailed after him into the kitchen area and, surprise surprise, attentively observed every step of the process of making mac and cheese. He didn’t get in the way, at least. It was almost like he could sense where Dean was about to go. At one point, Dean wanted to add more cheese, but he’d left it at the other end of the counter, behind the other man. No sooner had Dean realized the location of the cheese than it was being gently placed into his hand, before he’d even started moving to get it.

“Wow.” Dean was taken aback. He stared at the cheese, and then at the guy, who was looking mildly pleased with himself. “Um, thanks.” Continuing to cook, Dean couldn’t shake the feeling that there was a lot more going on here than he even realized. Without verbalizing it this time, he wondered again to himself: _What are you?_

When he met the other man’s eyes again, they were distant and unreadable. If his earlier innocent smile had made him look younger, this new expression made him look older, much older than anyone––or anything––Dean had ever seen. A shiver ran through him, and he tore his gaze away. “Okay, dinnertime!” he announced heartily, and began scraping the noodles into two bowls.

Sitting down at the table with two place settings felt oddly natural. The scenario was comfortably domestic. “I sure hope you know how to eat,” Dean said, as an afterthought.

Head-tip. Blank eyes. No indication of understanding.

Dean lifted a forkful of noodles to his mouth and stuffed them in, chewed, and swallowed. Then he glanced over to his guest to see if he was doing the same. He wasn’t, but his gaze followed Dean’s fork back down to the bowl before lifting to his face again. “Oh, come on!” Dean groaned. “Do you seriously not know how to eat? Or are you just not hungry?” He stuck another forkful of noodles in his mouth, and almost choked as the other man casually did the same.

They chewed, each one’s eyes not leaving the others’, and swallowed in tandem. Dean could have sworn he felt a humming of energy in the air, but he couldn’t explain it. The meal proceeded, being by far the most awkward one he’d ever experienced, and he let out a breath of relief when they were finished. He picked up both bowls and headed for the sink, not surprised when the guy followed right behind him. Gritting his teeth at the sensation of being constantly in the spotlight, Dean scrubbed one bowl clean and went to grab the other.

It was already clean. Sparklingly clean and dry, like it hadn’t been used. So was the fork. Dean took a deep breath and stared at the dishes in his hand for a moment. “I am losing my mind,” he said aloud into the silence, refusing to meet the eyes he could feel fixed on him. “I can’t handle this.”

On automatic, with his human shadow half a step behind him, he headed for the phone. Gotta call Sam. Number half-dialed, Dean suddenly stopped and put the phone back down, for the second time that evening. He couldn’t call Sam. What would he say? Sam was full of common sense. He’d be shocked that Dean hadn’t called the police yet, and would insist on doing it at once. Or maybe he’d even come over. That wouldn’t be a good idea. It would scare Dean’s visitor.

“Okay, listen,” Dean announced. “You need to stop standing right next to me all the time. I don’t like it. Go sit on your bed or something.”

No reaction, of course, so Dean took hold of the guy’s arm and steered him over to the bed before pushing him down to sit on it. Mission accomplished, he started backing away. The man stayed obediently seated.

Dean felt a sudden wave of exhaustion flood over him. Even after the hardest work days, he didn’t usually have to come home and deal with an even more trying situation. “Fuck it,” Dean decided. “I’m gonna watch some TV. I don’t care what you do.” He wished he hadn’t already made up the bed; the sofa was directly in front of the television. Oh well. He moved the bed pillows aside and propped up the sofa pillows at the back of the sheet-covered mattress, grabbed the remote from the TV cupboard and another beer from the fridge, and settled himself down on one side of the sofa bed in a reclining position, as if it were just an extra-long couch. The other man carefully scooted upwards from the foot of the bed, and settled himself next to Dean. Too close. Dean pushed him away, and he acquiesced, letting himself be moved.

The first channel Dean found was playing a Dr. Sexy marathon. “Oh yeah,” Dean said happily. “Maybe there is a God after all.” He toasted with his beer towards the ceiling, and settled more comfortably into his pillow, before becoming aware that his companion was staring at him even more intensely than he had before––if that were possible. “Stop it,” Dean grumbled. But his request was not obeyed. Instead, he suddenly felt a hand on his shoulder, which proceeded to slide down his arm. “What?! Jesus!” Dean spluttered, barely managing to keep his beer from spilling as he jerked his arm away. “Don’t touch me!”

Head-tip. The guy was frowning again, more severely this time. “Well, don’t whine about it,” Dean grumbled. “I just don’t want you touching me, is all.” To his surprise, his companion responded by letting out what was quite obviously a sigh, before settling back into his own pillows. Dean reclined again, eyeing the guy suspiciously, but he seemed to be behaving himself, and even looked at the television screen for a few moments before returning his attention to Dean. After a couple of minutes, Dean got used to the odd experience of having his own one-person audience, and for the rest of the evening he managed to enjoy his show while the other man alternated his gaze between the television and Dean himself.

A little before ten, Dean yawned and turned off the set. “I know it’s not even that late, but I’m beat,” he said conversationally, no longer expecting an answer. “This has been a crazy day. I’m turning in. Let me grab you your pillows back.” He arranged them on the sofa bed and discovered the beer he’d given the man earlier, still standing unopened on the floor. “Heh, dude, if you don’t drink you could have just put it back in the fridge.” He did so himself, then went to lock the front and back doors (flicking off the light switch on the way––the street lamps from outside still provided enough illumination) and took a final look around, stifling another yawn as his eyes adjusted to the half-dark.

The guy was still sitting upright against the back of the sofa. Dean looked at him for a moment, and then sighed, bracing himself for one final task of the day. “You need to get under the covers and lie down. It’s more comfortable that way. At least... for humans.” He had no idea when he’d started thinking of the guy as not-human, but, well, there the thought was in his head. He quickly squashed it, instead approaching the bed and tugging the man to his feet. After pushing back the covers and rearranging the pillows, he gently shoved his guest back down onto the bed and pulled the sheets over him. It was strangely endearing, the way the guy let himself be moved around without the slightest resistance.

Dean sighed and rubbed a hand over his inexplicably healed eye. “I just don’t know what to make of you,” he confessed in a half-whisper. “Or what to do with you. I’ve got to make a decision tomorrow.” He paused, and became aware of those blue eyes glowing up at him in the dark. “Good night,” he whispered.

“Thank you,” came the reply. Dean froze in the act of turning away. The voice was low, somewhat husky from disuse, but warm and sure.

Dean turned back, slowly. “You––you can talk?”

The guy was looking up at him with a little smile, his eyelids already at half-mast. “Dean,” he added, in the same gravelly voice. The tone was undeniably affectionate.

In shock, Dean sat down on the edge of the bed, blinking in the darkness. “You said my name.”

The guy snuggled––actually snuggled!––down into the covers. Dean stared at him, struck dumb with wonder.

Finally, he regained control of himself and carefully reached out a hand, pressing it to the other man’s chest. “But who are you? What’s your name?” He moved the hand to his own chest. “I’m Dean Winchester.” He placed it on the other man again. “Who are you?”

“Castiel.”


	4. Chapter 4

After a total of four words––‘Thank you’, ‘Dean’, and ‘Castiel’, which was apparently his whole name––the man hadn’t seemed inclined to say anything else, so after another minute or two of shocked attempts to pry more speech out of him, Dean had finally given up and retired to his own bedroom. He’d so quickly adapted to the stranger’s silence that the sudden breaking of it rattled him more than he’d like to admit. He wondered how much of his own one-sided conversation this guy––Castiel––had actually been understanding. Part of him was angry and felt like he’d been played, but another part of him was undeniably intrigued by his new acquaintance’s odd and almost otherworldly behavior.

Fluffing his pillow impatiently for the third time, Dean made a decision: he would take Castiel somewhere eventually, but not before he’d gotten him to talk some more. It wouldn’t make sense, he reasoned, to drop the guy off with social workers or whatever before knowing anything about his past, especially now that it was evident he was capable of speech. With this determination in mind, Dean eventually managed to get to sleep, and proceeded to suffer through a night of unsettling dreams.

***

The next morning Dean woke earlier than usual, probably due to the subconscious knowledge that there was another person in his house. Nobody could be expected to sleep like a baby with such a weirdo in the next room, he thought grumpily, splashing some water on his face in the bathroom to help him wake up. To be honest, he was kind of delaying going into the main room. The events of the previous evening seemed like a dream, and he wasn’t sure how he’d react if he found his living room empty. But eventually he screwed up his courage and padded down the hall.

The sensation he got when he found the man still there in the sofa bed was a combination of relief and nervousness and something else he couldn’t quite identify. The man–– _Castiel_ , Dean reminded himself again––was awake, eyes aimed at the ceiling, lying on his back in the exact position in which he had been put to bed. Dean briefly got a mental image of him lying there awake all night without moving, just waiting for Dean to return. But then he shook his head and put the absurd thought out of his mind.

“Good morning, uh, Castiel,” he said softly, not wanting to startle him. But those blue eyes merely turned in his direction as if his presence had already been noted. Dean paused, his breath catching in his throat. He’d thought that the weird ethereal beauty of the guy might have just been a construct of his tired and freaked-out mind the previous evening, but even in the daylight it was still strikingly evident. He simply didn’t look like anyone Dean had ever seen before. And it wasn’t really so much his physical appearance as the vibe he gave off, a gentle but intense energy he seemed to carry with him, shining out of his eyes. It was... unearthly, Dean decided, feeling that this was the most accurate word.

Castiel smiled slightly, but did not reply and did not move to get up.

“Come on,” Dean coaxed. “I know you can talk now, remember? You gave yourself away last night.”

Castiel did the head-tip again, even though his head was lying on the pillow. It was so unexpectedly cute, like a baby bird or something, that Dean couldn’t hold back a chuckle. “Okay, whatever. You don’t have to say anything. Want some breakfast?” He waited a beat, and then headed for the kitchen area.

There were some frosted flakes in the cupboard and he didn’t feel like cooking with eyes following his every move again, so that would have to do. By the time he’d pulled out a couple of bowls, Castiel had silently appeared at his elbow. Dean didn’t even blink this time, just handed over a bowl of cereal. “Hold that a sec, I’ll pour you some milk.” Castiel obeyed, which again convinced Dean that he must understand more than he was letting on. Once both their bowls were filled with cereal and milk, Dean fetched them each a spoon and leaned against the counter. He didn’t normally bother sitting down for breakfast.

After a few bites he glanced over to the living room area. His mouth fell open and the cereal that was in it fell back into the bowl. The sofa bed had been completely de-bedded and was now set up as a sofa again, with the sheets and pillowcases neatly folded in a pile.

“Okay, hang on one minute.” He put his spoon in his bowl and the bowl on the counter, before turning his entire attention on Castiel. “I can handle you being able to slip out of bed and sneak up next to me like that, but it is––it is _superhuman_ to be able to unmake your whole bed and everything without my noticing! How the hell did you do that?” Silence. “No. No, come on, dude.” Dean pointed a threatening finger at Castiel’s innocent face. “I know you can talk. And I’m pretty damn sure you understand everything I say, too. No more playing dumb, buddy. You owe me some explanations by this point. That’s the least you can do. I gave you clothes, food, a bed––I think I deserve to know what the fuck your deal is! So start talking.”

Castiel tipped his head to one side, slower than he usually did. There was a slightly disconcerted look in his eyes. “Dean?” he asked, voice scratchy and even deeper than it had been last night. The unexpected normality of ‘morning voice’ coming from this otherwise alien creature suddenly struck Dean as hilarious, and he let out a half-panicked laugh.

“Castiel. Tell me––for God’s sake, tell me something about yourself!”

There was a long moment of silence. Dean wasn’t sure what he was expecting. Castiel just looked straight at him, his expression almost sad––or maybe that was Dean’s imagination. 

After a minute, Dean shook his head hopelessly and picked up his cereal again. “Right. I forgot. You like to keep stuff to yourself. Fine. I won’t tell you anything about my life either. See how you like that.” He was aware that he was being stupidly childish, but his frustration had just about reached its limits, and he had no clue how to break the communication barrier with his strange guest.

Something shifted in Dean’s mind, and he took another look at the man next to him. Yes, Castiel behaved very oddly, hardly talked, and was physically remarkable in ways Dean couldn’t exactly describe but kept finding himself captivated by––but none of this was actually reason to start believing in the supernatural. The guy was probably just a half brain-dead escapee from a local mental hospital or something. Did they still lobotomize people? Maybe that was what had happened to him. The spooky stuff like the clean bowl last night and the sofa bed this morning was probably more a reflection of the distraction and tiredness that had been plaguing Dean recently than of anything truly out of the ordinary.

Dean sighed. “Listen. Sorry for asking you if you were an alien. I know that’s not PC. I just––you are pretty weird, you know that? And it’s not necessarily a bad thing. It just takes some getting used to. I’m not stupid, I know you’re human.”

Castiel narrowed his eyes, took a breath, and held it briefly before repeating the word. “Human.”

Dean’s eyebrows lifted slightly. “Yeah. Human. Like me. Like all of us. Human. You are... aren’t you?”

Castiel was definitely frowning now, and he seemed to be holding himself straighter, with a fire in his eyes that sent a shiver down Dean’s spine. Instead of confirming Dean’s awkward question, Castiel shook his head, very clearly, and then spoke a single word: “Angel.”


	5. Chapter 5

So Castiel’s active vocabulary was now up to six words, increased by half again since last night. And Dean’s life was getting more messed up at an equally rapid rate. Now he had a guy who claimed to be an angel on his hands. The strange part was how he felt around Castiel. He knew he ought to be terrified––insane people are dangerously unpredictable, and despite his general attitude of harmlessness, Castiel clearly had a core of unshakeable intensity that Dean had barely gotten a peek of and was already intimidated by––but for every moment that his breath caught in his throat or his hair stood up on end, it was equal parts fear and fascination, unease and intrigue. He had to admit to himself that he didn’t want to just let this odd person slip out of his life without leaving a trace. Castiel was a mystery that Dean felt compelled to get to the bottom of.

Settling himself on the perfectly remade sofa with a cup of coffee, hoping the caffeine would help clear his mind, Dean fell into his habit of talking to Castiel. The one-sided conversations were already starting to feel weirdly comforting. “So,” Dean said, and paused to blow on his coffee a bit. He liked it hot, but didn’t want to burn his tongue. “I’m guessing you probably have people somewhere who are worried about you. Maybe there’s even a search going on. I don’t want you to think I’m just trying to get rid of you, but I’ve got to do the responsible thing here.”

Castiel’s unblinking stare made him uncomfortable, so he took a larger gulp of coffee than was prudent. Sure enough, it burnt his tongue. With a yelp, Dean spat half the mouthful back into his mug and winced, twisting his tongue and pressing it against the roof of his mouth in a vain attempt to ease the pain. When he opened his eyes, Castiel had gotten into his personal space again and was kneeling down on the floor next to him. As Dean watched in confusion, Castiel wrapped both his hands around the mug, lightly touching Dean’s hand that was still holding the handle.

After a moment of what looked like intense concentration, Castiel removed his hands, and Dean felt the astonishing sensation of his mug’s heat fading to a mild warmth. Before he could wrap his mind around this development, let alone take a sip to test the changed temperature, Castiel was lifting a hand to his face. Dean automatically opened his mouth to protest, but Castiel slipped a finger deftly between his lips and touched his tongue.

If the feeling of his mug quickly cooling in his hands had been strange, it was nothing compared to what he now experienced. A silvery, cooling tickle seeped into his tongue and from there spread to his entire mouth before tingling gently away, vanishing as swiftly as it had come. And in its wake, the pain was gone. The soreness of his taste buds faded instantly, and Castiel carefully withdrew his finger, with that soft look in his eyes that somehow made Dean stop breathing for a moment.

Dean knew he should be shocked or offended or just really freaked out. But for some reason, he wasn’t any of these things. Maybe he’d simply reached his quota of freaked-out-ness by this point. Instead, he merely pressed his lips together, swallowed, and forced himself to blink––since at least one of them ought to, eventually. And instead of yelling at Cas–– _Wait, ‘Cas’? Where did that come from?_ ––or jumping to his feet or anything, he simply found himself saying “Thank you.”

A smile touched Castiel’s lips, and he gazed into Dean’s eyes for a moment more before seeming to remember himself, standing up again and taking a step backward like a servant waiting for further orders. Dean followed this movement with his eyes and cleared his throat, still hyper-aware of the inside of his mouth. “Okay, look, uh––you don’t need to do that. Here, you can sit next to me. If you want.” He patted the sofa next to him, and Castiel responded instantly, coming and perching on the edge of the cushion like a bird about to fly away.

Dean forced a smile and became aware of the fact that his heart was beating faster than normal. His brain was doing everything it possibly could to avoid thinking about what had just happened, seemingly knowing that there was no way he’d be able to explain this latest miracle to himself. Because that’s what it was: a miracle. Sure, it was only a small miracle. But when he added together all the strange little things Castiel had done––apparently cleaning his dinner dishes with his mind, soundlessly unmaking his bed and setting up the sofa in the blink of an eye, and now cooling Dean’s coffee and healing his tongue with the simple touch of his hands––there was no other way to explain it.

The word ‘angel’ reverberated in Dean’s mind like the strike of a heavy gong. He looked at Castiel for a long moment. His lungs felt empty of air, but he finally managed to speak, in a hollow voice. “Castiel. Are you really an angel?”

Castiel didn’t smile. He merely nodded once, deliberately, almost regally. But warily too, as if he were awaiting Dean’s reaction.

Dean had no idea what his reaction should be. But slowly his madly humming thoughts gave way to one clear conviction: he had to call Sam. Right now. Common sense be damned, he would make his brother listen to him instead of doing something reckless like calling the cops. This was obviously a situation that would have to be handled very delicately, and Dean didn’t think he could do it alone anymore.

Sam picked up on the second ring, despite the early hour. “Hey Dean!” He sounded out of breath. “I have class in ten minutes. What’s up?”

“Hey. Uh.” Dean took a deep breath. “I have a weird situation here.”

The words were relatively innocuous, but Sam wasn’t easy to fool. His tone immediately changed to one of concern. “A weird situation? What do you mean?”

“Can you...” Dean paused. He had been about to say ‘can you come over’, but suddenly that didn’t seem like such a good idea. “Do you want to get lunch later? What time are you out of class?”

“Um...” Sam still sounded unsure. “In an hour and a half. But that would still be kind of early for lunch.”

“Doesn’t matter. We can grab a coffee or something. I’ve got something to tell you.”

“Dean, is everything all right?”

“Sure! Of course.” Dean forced a laugh. “Sorry, didn’t mean to freak you out. So, yeah, let’s meet up when you’re out of class. Maybe hit up the Roadhouse down here? We haven’t been there in a while.” Usually they would meet halfway between Stanford and Campbell, so that neither one had to drive more than fifteen minutes, but Dean wanted to stick close to home today. For reasons that he obviously couldn’t explain to Sam yet. Luckily Sam agreed to the plan, and Dean hung up with a sigh of relief. His little brother was always a breath of fresh air. Hopefully he’d have some helpful new angles on the situation.

Angles. Angels. Dean felt an almost unbearable rush of––something. A sort of exhilarated despair, if he had to describe it. Like he’d been allowed a tiny peek at his destiny, and it was far too much for his mind to handle. It made no sense. It went straight to his head and left him reeling, so dizzy he had to brace a hand on the wall. What the hell was going on with him? “Why me?” Dean gasped aloud. He blinked, the dizzy spell passing, and focused on Castiel, who was standing across the room, watching him intently. “Why did you choose me?” Dean asked plaintively, not even sure what he was really saying. “Why did you––” He let out a short, confused laugh. “Why did you crash-land in my backyard, of all places on earth?”

Castiel said nothing, but his gaze was so full of compassion that it lent his already handsome features a breathtaking beauty. All the doubt that had been torturing Dean seemed to evaporate in the space of a single heartbeat, and he suddenly found himself overflowing with a feeling he hadn’t known in a very long time, if ever: belief. In that moment, for the first time in his life, Dean Winchester knew he believed in angels.


	6. Chapter 6

While waiting for Sam to get out of class so they could meet up, Dean called in sick to work. He couldn’t bring himself to lie, so he just said that he’d been feeling really weird and off his game since he got home last night. Which was absolutely true. His boss Bobby sounded suspicious, though. Dean never got sick, and he hadn’t missed a day of work since he’d started at Singer Auto. “If you’re not feelin’ well, it must be something serious,” Bobby said gruffly. “Might want to see the doctor. Your call, though.”

“Yeah, thanks Bobby,” Dean said tiredly. “I think I’m just gonna take it easy today.” After hanging up, he emerged from his bedroom (he’d needed a respite from Castiel’s constant staring, so he’d retreated to his own room to make the second call). Back in the main room, he found the guy holding Dean’s empty coffee cup in both hands and looking down into it like he was trying to read nonexistent tea leaves or something.

“Hey,” Dean started. He felt awkward and he didn’t know why. “I, uh... I’m going out in a little while. Not for too long. Just gotta meet my brother real quick. I guess––I guess you should stay here.” He could hardly believe the words as they left his mouth. Was he seriously planning to leave a complete stranger he’d known for less than a day alone in his house? Apparently so. Because after all, Castiel wasn’t some random stranger, he was an––no. No. Dean wasn’t going to allow himself to even think that word right now.

Castiel responded to Dean’s words with his usual equanimity. He seemed to be taking a meditative tour of the house, picking things up to touch or examine them closely, and then putting them down again. Dean was itching to do something with himself while he waited to meet Sam, so he tugged open the back screen door and headed out to the pool. The winter cover was ruined, so he might as well remove it and throw it out.

He had barely begun when he noticed that Castiel had migrated out onto the deck and was sitting on the steps watching him. A thought suddenly struck him. “Hey, Cas. Come over here.” He beckoned and raised his eyebrows invitingly, and Castiel seemed to get the message, eagerly standing up and crossing to Dean’s side. A bit too close, as always, but Dean decided to ignore it. “Listen, can you fix this for me?” He indicated the pool cover. “It’s all broken, see? From your dramatic entrance yesterday. Think you can patch it up?”

Castiel willingly stepped forward and placed a hand on the edge of the pool cover. Dean watched closely. This would be the first time he was actually expecting to see a miracle take place in front of his eyes. But a white light started glowing from Castiel’s fingers and quickly became so bright that Dean had to close his eyes. Suddenly nervous about what was happening, he turned away, but the moment the brightness beyond his tightly-shut eyelids faded, he turned back and opened his eyes in anticipation.

The pool cover was there, certainly, and it was in one piece. But it was different. Dean frowned, and hesitantly reached out a hand to touch it. The material had completely changed: it was now more like some sort of stiff canvas. Dean poked at it experimentally, and became aware that Castiel was giving him a nervous, hopeful look. Dean began to grin, and soon his grin became a full-blown laugh. “What the hell did you do to my pool cover?”

Castiel’s expression fell slightly, becoming confused and dismayed. “It’s okay!” Dean quickly reassured him. “Looks like it’ll still do the job just fine.” He let out another huff of laughter. “You were probably too disoriented from your crash landing yesterday to pay attention to exactly how this thing was put together. No worries, really, man,” he repeated, seeing Castiel’s brows drawn tensely together. “Believe me, you’re still awesome. It’s amazing that you can do this stuff. You’d sure be handy to have around the house.” 

Although he’d said this jokingly, the truth of it suddenly struck him, and his grin faded as he continued to examine the reconstituted pool cover. He couldn’t deny that there was a part of him––a small part, but it was there––that was already kind of expecting to keep Castiel around for a while. Dean sighed, turning to head back into the house. There was a lot of stuff he needed to figure out. His meeting with Sam couldn’t come fast enough.

***

Dean left Castiel watching TV, in the vaguest possible sense of the word, meaning that the television was on and Castiel was in the same room with it. But as Dean headed toward the front door, grabbing his keys from the table and his leather jacket from the coat hook, Castiel came with him. “No, you have to stay here,” Dean told him. “I promise I’ll be back soon. In like an hour. Maybe a little longer. You just stay in the house and be good, don’t break anything, and don’t answer the door.” Castiel’s eyes were huge as he watched Dean open the door and close it behind him, and Dean couldn’t help an irrational shudder of guilt as he climbed into his car and pulled out of the driveway. Glancing in the rearview mirror, he noted with relief that the front door stayed closed, at least.

At a quarter to eleven Dean was settling into a corner booth at the Roadhouse, the local bar that did double duty as a restaurant during the day. He’d been about to order his second coffee of the morning, still searching for that caffeine kick, but then the sense memory of Castiel’s finger in his mouth hit him like a freight train, and his throat went so dry he could barely stammer out “One beer” instead.

The bartender, a no-nonsense woman called Ellen whom Dean knew somewhat due to her friendship with his boss Bobby, raised an eyebrow and glanced meaningfully in the direction of the clock before getting him his beer. Normally Dean would have grumbled at such patronizing behavior, but today he had bigger things on his mind. (And also, to be honest, he was kind of scared of Ellen.)

He’d barely taken the first swig of his drink when the door swung open again and his giant of a little brother stepped in. Dean raised his bottle to show where he was sitting, and smirked as he saw Sam’s smile instantly replaced by his trademark ‘bitch face’ when he saw Dean’s beer.

“Seriously, Dean?” he hissed disapprovingly, sliding into the seat across from him. “It’s not even eleven a.m. yet, and you’re already drinking? Remind me why I ever thought it was a good idea to be seen in public with you.”

“Nice to see you too, Sammy,” Dean said easily. The playful bickering they both fell into so naturally was a welcome relief from the weirdness of the past twenty-four hours. Unfortunately, Dean wasn’t allowed this respite for long. Sam evidently still had his brother’s mysterious words from their earlier conversation at the front of his mind, because as soon as he’d ordered and received his coffee from the waitress (a cute blonde named Jo whom Dean assumed must be Ellen’s daughter, due to the evil eye he’d gotten from the older woman when he’d tried to flirt with Jo once), he turned all his attention on Dean with a very serious expression.

“So Dean, tell me what’s going on. I gotta say, man, you sounded pretty freaked out on the phone. What’s up? Is it a work thing?”

“No!” Dean took another swig of beer. He couldn’t really blame Sam for jumping to that conclusion; besides the guys he knew from work, Dean didn’t have much of a social life in Campbell yet.

Sam frowned and sat back, stirring sugar into his coffee. “So... did you... meet somebody? Is that what this is about?” He took a sip.

“That looks hot, be careful not to burn your tongue,” Dean said absently. As his own words registered in his ears, he dropped his eyes in embarrassment and rubbed the back of his neck with one hand.

“Wait, is that it? You met somebody?” Sam was beginning to grin.

Dean sighed and put down his beer. Obviously he wasn’t going to be able to delay this conversation anymore. “No. I didn’t––no, Sam. Listen, I––God, where do I even begin?”

Sam frowned, but kept his mouth shut this time, listening intently.

“Last night,” Dean started, “Was one of the weirdest nights of my life. And this morning too. I don’t know how to explain it.” But he managed to, somehow, in a mixed-up and nonsensical recounting that sounded unconvincing even to his own ears, especially because it was utterly impossible to describe what Castiel was like. Dean found himself at a complete loss, so he just mumbled “You’ve gotta meet him, then you’ll understand.” When he got to the part about the miracles, it got even harder to tell the story, and he couldn’t meet Sam’s eyes, sure that he’d see a look of total scorn and disbelief on his younger brother’s face.

When he was done, Dean risked a glance upwards, and was relieved to see that Sam didn’t look quite as skeptical as he’d feared. His younger brother hadn’t seemed to settle on a reaction yet. He stirred his coffee for a minute, lips pressed tightly together, and then finally spoke. “So... this guy says he’s an angel?”

Dean nodded.

“And you believe him?” Sam asked.

Dean shrugged helplessly. “I dunno, Sammy. I mean... he did stuff that no human should be able to do. What else _can_ I believe?”

Sam opened his mouth, then closed it again. “Well, we’ll get to that later. Right now, what I’d like to know is what you ended up doing with him.”

“Oh, he’s...” Dean shrugged again. “He’s still there. I haven’t figured out what to do yet. Was actually kind of hoping that you might––”

“You left him _alone_ in your _house_?!” Sam broke in, a look of horror on his face. “Dean, what were you thinking?”

“I––I needed to talk to you!” Dean protested. “And I didn’t want to just invite you over, because I wanted to explain about him first, and––” He wasn’t able to complete his sentence, because Sam grabbed his arm and dragged him out of the booth, pausing only to throw down a couple of bills on the table.

“Dean, we are going to your place right now.” Sam’s tone brooked no argument, and Dean swallowed and nodded, heading out the door to where the Impala was parked while Sam climbed into his Prius.

For the entire five-minute drive back to his house, Dean’s mind was racing, going through every possible scenario that might take place when he returned home with Sam. How would Castiel react? Would he be frightened? Angry? Confused? Would he withdraw? Would he stop talking, or talk more, or refuse to demonstrate his powers? Dean couldn’t stand the thought that those big blue eyes might look at him in betrayal and distrust. He hoped Sam wouldn’t do anything rash. He hoped Castiel wouldn’t be scared.

But none of the many situations that rushed through Dean’s head during the short drive home ended up being even close to what actually happened when he walked through the front door.


	7. Chapter 7

Dean unlocked the door and tentatively pushed it open, pocketing his keys. “Cas? Don’t be mad, I brought my brother home. Sam. He wants to meet you.” The first thing he noticed was that the television was off, which caused a small, silly surge of pride to blossom in him. The guy was a fast learner. “Cas?” He wasn’t in the main room, living room or kitchen area. Dean ducked down the hall, rapped gently on the bathroom door before pushing it open––empty––and peeked into both his own bedroom and the walk-in closet across the hall––both empty too.

With a mounting sense of panic, he returned to the main room to find Sam standing there waiting patiently for him instead of helping to search. For some reason that set off a spark of anger in Dean. “What the hell are you doing just standing there?” he barked. “The guy’s missing!” A sudden thought struck him, and he pulled open the back door and stepped out onto the deck. Castiel didn’t appear to be anywhere in the backyard, but Dean did a quick perimeter check anyway, even looking in the storage area under the deck. No sign of him. Dean was really starting to get agitated now. Back in the house, he found Sam still waiting, wearing a small sad frown that Dean had never seen before on his brother’s face. “What’s wrong with you, man?” he snapped. “Why aren’t you saying anything?”

“Dean,” Sam said gently. “There’s nobody here.”

“Yeah, obviously!” Dean growled. “Castiel is gone, and you’re acting like you don’t give a shit.”

Sam took a deep breath. “Are you sure that he was here in the first place?”

Dean had been about to make another sharp remark, but these words cut him off short. “Wh––what?” he asked in disbelief. “You think––you think I’m making him up?”

Sam shrugged, that strange little frown still in place. “I’m not saying I don’t believe you. Not necessarily. It’s just... I know you’ve been working really hard lately, and... maybe you’re stressing yourself out too much. Maybe you should take some time off, or, I don’t know, just cut back a––”

“What the FUCK?!” Dean balled his fists in incredulous rage. “You actually think I’m going bonkers and imagining all this shit? You––” He cut himself off, an idea having just struck him. Without another word to Sam, he turned and headed down the hallway to his room, pulling open his closet door and beginning a feverish search through the old clothes piled on the floor at the back of the closet. He could hear Sam’s footsteps reluctantly coming down the hall and pausing at the open door of his room.

“Dean? What are you doing?” His voice was very small.

Dean snorted, but didn’t answer. He was looking for the clothes he’d given Castiel to wear. And sure enough, they weren’t there. They were nowhere. He let out a shuddering breath and stayed crouched on the floor for a moment, his head in his hands. Then he stood up and turned to face Sam, using all his effort to keep his voice calm and steady. “One ripped Led Zep t-shirt, one pair of jeans, and one pair of green boxers.”

Sam’s eyebrows twitched minutely in confusion. “What are you talking about?”

“Those are the clothes I gave Cas to wear. And they’re not here. Still think I’m making it all up?”

Sam didn’t look convinced. “Dean...” He let out a short sigh. “Just try to see things from my point of view for a minute. You call me up sounding totally freaked out, tell me a story about a guy who crashes into your backyard out of nowhere and starts doing magic and says he’s an angel, and then you bring me here to see him and he’s nowhere, and the only proof you have of his existence is the absence of the clothes you say you gave him? It’s not...” He huffed out air in frustration. “I’m just saying, you’re not exactly making a watertight case for yourself.”

“Yeah, well, you’re in law school! This is real life!” Dean snapped back. “This is real shit that’s happening to me. It’s not inside my head. It’s out there, in the real world, and I gotta say I’m surprised that you find it so unlikely that the guy might have flown the coop!”

Now that he’d said it, the logic of these words struck him as well, but with a slightly more painful resonance. Why should Castiel want to stay with him at all? Dean had been pretty naive, expecting that the guy would just sit tight and wait for him. It wasn’t like they were friends or anything. And Dean had even said to him last night ‘Don’t get too comfortable, you’re not staying.’ Was it then such a surprise that Castiel had up and left him? He’d probably thought that Dean had left first. Maybe he hadn’t understood Dean’s words after all, and had thought he’d been abandoned for good. A sick weight settled in Dean’s stomach. He should never have left Castiel alone this morning. And he definitely shouldn’t have called Sam. He had no idea why he’d thought that would be a good idea.

“You know what? I think it’s time for you to leave,” he said coldly, giving Sam a steady look. “If you’re just gonna come here with your––your preconceived ideas that I must be batshit crazy, if you’re not gonna give me even the slightest benefit of the doubt, well, there’s no reason for me to put up with that.”

Sam looked like he was about to argue, teetering nervously in the doorway to Dean’s room, but then he bit his lip and turned to go without a word. Dean waited until he’d heard the front door swing shut behind his brother, and tried to ignore the pang of misery that hit him right in the chest as he heard the soft hum of that damn Prius starting up in the driveway.

The day passed with agonizing slowness. Dean couldn’t settle into doing anything. He went to wash the dishes, but they were all clean. The pool cover had been fixed, of course, albeit in a rather creative manner, so there was nothing he had to do with it. For the heck of it––and obstinately refusing to acknowledge the possibility that he might be doubting himself––he dug through the hall closet, just in case the clothes he remembered giving Castiel might turn out to be in there. They weren’t, of course. Dean took a long shaky breath, and suddenly felt very alone. He wished he could go back to the auto shop, just turn off his mind and spend the day doing hard physical work. But he’d called in sick and it would be too weird to show up now.

Eventually, he ended up doing what he always did: numbing his emotions with beer and bad daytime TV. By mid-afternoon he’d worked his way through most of a six-pack and was having trouble keeping his eyes focused on the screen. He had no idea what he was even watching anymore. _Fuck it,_ he thought, _I’m technically on a sick day anyway..._ And he gave up fighting off sleep, despite it only being half-past three.


	8. Chapter 8

Dean was lying on a riverbank under a weeping willow tree. His eyes were closed, but he could hear the river rushing past him, and he could feel the tendrils of the willow’s branches brushing tenderly over his face. They were as soft as feathers, and he smiled, utterly content in that moment. Perhaps there was no one else around, but he didn’t feel alone. He felt cherished. It was a feeling he’d rarely known. The wind whispered through the willow, and it almost sounded like his name. The feather-soft touch fluttered across his face again. This time it tickled. Dean squinched his eyes shut, wanting to hold onto the moment––

––but a tremendous sneeze shook his body, and the involuntary movement caused him to roll off the sofa and land in an ungainly heap on the floor, his head banging against the leg of the coffee table. He jerked back at the contact, moaning and instinctively clutching at his left temple. He was completely disoriented, but as the pain settled into a dull throb, he slowly became aware of his surroundings. He was in his own living room, and had apparently fallen asleep while watching TV, before waking himself up with a sneeze so hefty that it had caused him to fall off the sofa.

“Smooth, Winchester,” he groaned, blinking tentatively and slowly attempting to raise himself onto his hands and knees.

“Dean?” came a low, anxious query from somewhere behind him. In shock at hearing that voice, Dean jerked his head up, forgetting that it was still underneath the coffee table, and bashed it royally on the underside of the tabletop. With a cry of agony, he collapsed to the floor again. The combination of the two head-bumps in rapid succession and the not inconsiderable hangover he appeared to have achieved added up to make him feel like he was about to puke from the pain.

Before he knew what was happening, Dean found himself being lifted by two strong arms wrapped firmly but gently around his waist. Upright at last, he struggled to turn himself in the unexpected embrace, and found himself face to face with Castiel, whose eyes were alight with a combination of worry and relief. “Dean...” he whispered, almost as if he couldn’t believe the sight in front of him.

A similar emotion was overwhelming Dean, who found himself at a loss for words. Finally regaining the use of his tongue, he croaked “You’re back.”

Castiel carefully let Dean down onto the sofa again before settling next to him––too close, but Dean really didn’t care anymore. A cool hand was pressed to his forehead and Dean sagged gratefully into the touch, squeezing his eyes shut against the glow of white light and savoring the sensation of his pain fading away in response to Castiel’s ministrations. It didn’t vanish entirely, though. Only the part that had been caused when his head bashed the table was gone. Once the healing glow had faded, Dean cracked an eye open and mumbled “Think you could take care of the rest, too?”

There was silence, and Dean opened his other eye just in time to see Castiel’s patented head-tilt. He sighed. “No hangover relief? Some angel you are.” Castiel frowned, and brushed his hand across Dean’s head again, this time back to front as if exploring the texture of his hair. Dean waited, but nothing happened. The distant ache and slight nausea was still there. He leaned gingerly back on the sofa and pressed both hands to his eyes. “Let me guess: you don’t know what a hangover is, so you can’t fix it. Am I right?” In response to the silence that followed, Dean chuckled weakly. “Hey, at least you didn’t remake my head in canvas, like you did with the pool cover. Guess I shouldn’t ask you to fix stuff you don’t understand, huh?” 

More silence. Dean became aware of the cottony dryness of his mouth, and steeled himself to get up and get some water. But then he paused. “Hey Cas? Will you get me a glass of water?” _It’s worth a shot, right?_ When yet more silence followed, Dean risked a glance to the side and was met with a stony frown of disapproval. “Okay, okay. Sorry. I know you’re not my maid or whatever.”

Once he’d fetched himself a tall glass of water and drunk the whole thing down without stopping to breathe, he felt a bit more functional. He crossed to the sofa and flopped back down next to Castiel, digging around for the remote. Upon finally finding it under the coffee table and turning off the TV, he let out another sigh into the silence. “Man, am I glad you’re back,” he confessed in a whisper. “I have had a shitty day. Why did you leave?” He glanced at Castiel and was surprised to see a distressed expression on the angel’s face. He almost looked like he was about to cry, and his wide eyes were tracing repeatedly over Dean’s face and body, up and down as if he were cataloguing every inch of him.

“Hey. Hey!” Dean sat up, half-turning to face his companion. “What’s wrong? I wish you would tell me why you disappeared. I know I left first, and I’m sorry about that. I thought you understood I was going to be right back.” He froze––had Castiel’s lip just trembled? “I’m sorry,” Dean repeated earnestly, and, unsure of how else to emphasize his words, rested a hand on Castiel’s arm and gave it a reassuring squeeze. The huge blue eyes zeroed in on the action in stunned disbelief before lifting to Dean’s face again with a pleading look.

Dean huffed out a breath of frustration. “Castiel. Listen to me.” He caught the tear-filled gaze with his own, and held it. “Listen. We need to figure out a way to communicate.” Dean paused, biting his lip as he searched for words. “As things stand right now, I have no idea how much you understand of what I say. Sometimes it seems like you understand a lot, and then other times, nothing at all. I know you can talk too, so...” He paused again. “So let’s work on that. Yeah?” Inspiration struck him. “And you know what? I’ll make you a promise. I promise you can stay here, and I won’t send you away, not before we’ve figured out this talking thing. Okay? Because I have to admit, Cas, you’re a pretty interesting guy, and I would really like to know more about you. So until you’ve learned enough to be able to tell me your life story, consider yourself at home.” Speech finished, Dean held Castiel’s gaze for a few more beats, trying his best to look deep into those eyes and get his meaning across in emotions as well as words.

He couldn’t tell for sure, but it seemed to have worked, because Castiel no longer looked like he was on the brink of bursting into tears, and he even gave a shaky nod in return when Dean finally nodded encouragingly at him. “Okay? Okay. Great. Now, what time is it? I’m starving. What do you say we scrounge up some dinner and then get your bed made up for you, huh?” At these words, he was rewarded with a tremulous smile, and the sight of it unlocked something within him, allowing him to match it with a warm grin of his own and give Castiel’s arm another quick squeeze before releasing it and standing up. So it looked like he had a pet angel for the time being. Dean thought he could handle that.


	9. Chapter 9

In comparison to how that day had seemed to stretch on forever, the next week flew by. Castiel was a quick study. The first night, by the time Dean had finished cooking up some stir-fry (beef, green peppers, beef, onions, and more beef), he’d stopped in his tracks while carrying the plates to the table, upon seeing that the sofa had been converted into a bed again. He let out a chuckle of surprise. “Look at that. You’re something else, Cas.” Castiel smiled proudly to himself.

Dean had been planning to call in sick again to work the next morning, as uncomfortable as it made him to lie to his boss, but to his surprise he got a voicemail message from Bobby that very evening. The message was curt and to-the-point, as always: Bobby wanted him to take a couple of weeks off, and would hear no argument. He ended the message with a cryptic comment about ‘taking care of yourself and not overdoing it’. Dean frowned, replaying the message. He knew he had two weeks of vacation time coming to him, but this was kind of out of the blue. And he wasn’t sure how Bobby expected him to ‘overdo it’ while on vacation. But hey, no point looking a gift horse in the mouth.

With this unexpected stretch of freedom ahead of him, Dean decided it was time to get Castiel out of the house. They could start small. Since the day of his short trip out to meet Sam which had ended so disastrously, Dean hadn’t left the house for longer than it took to collect the mail from the mailbox, and he wasn’t sure how Castiel might react to being left alone again. He thought there had been some real understanding after their little talk that night when Cas had come back, but he didn’t want to press his luck.

So, in the spirit of ‘starting small’, Dean determined to bring Castiel along to the local corner store to pick up some food. A week into his impromptu vacation, Dean set his plan into action. After a long lazy breakfast during which he had fun trying out various foods on the angel (Castiel liked buttered toast, but didn’t care for coffee), Dean casually pulled on his jacket and picked up his keys. Castiel tensed up immediately.

Dean gave him a little smile. “I know, you got scared last time I went away. But this time is gonna be different. You know why? Because you’re coming along.” He opened the front door and beckoned to Castiel, who dithered in the middle of the room, eyes wide and nervous. “Come on out,” Dean coaxed. “It’s a beautiful day. Don’t you want to get out of the house for a change?”

Slowly, Castiel approached the open door, and Dean stepped out onto the front stoop, still holding the door open. “Come ON already, it’s not that big a deal.” Hearing the impatience in his tone, Castiel quickly rushed out through the door as if he were afraid it might try to bite him. Dean chuckled, closing and locking it behind them. “I swear, you are just like a kitten sometimes.”

Getting Castiel into the car proved to be even harder. He wanted to follow Dean, so when Dean got into the driver’s seat, Castiel tried to climb in the same side. “No, you have to go around to the other side,” Dean protested. “Only the driver can use this door, and there is no way I’m letting you drive my Baby.” Castiel stood in confusion on the driveway, while Dean shut the driver’s-side door and made gestures indicating that he should go around and climb in the other side. To no avail.

Finally giving up, Dean slid across the seat to the passenger’s side and opened the door himself, leaning halfway out and calling Castiel around the car. “Over here, come on. You get in this side. Like I’ve been telling you.” He slid back across the seat to make room, and Castiel quickly followed him in, seeming relieved to have completed the task. “Now shut the door after you,” Dean told him, and Castiel immediately obeyed. “Well, all right!” Dean raised his eyebrows in approval. “Looks like you understood at least that much.”

He’d thought Castiel might be nervous about actually traveling in the car, like a dog, but these fears were unfounded. The angel simply looked out the window as they drove, seeming perfectly content to admire the view. When Dean popped in a tape, Castiel looked in mild surprise at the tape player and then at Dean before returning to his contemplation of the outside world. Dean was a little disappointed by Castiel’s indifference to Metallica, but he shrugged it off. You couldn’t expect angels to have perfect taste in music on top of everything else, he supposed. When had he started unquestioningly believing that Castiel was an angel? He didn’t know. But there wasn’t really any point in continuing to doubt it.

When they got to the store, things went more smoothly than Dean had expected. Castiel was just as intrigued by the concept of shopping as he was by everything else, but he stuck close to Dean, showing no desire to wander off on his own. Their single day of separation appeared to have been enough for him. Dean was somewhat taken aback by how quickly he had become accustomed to Castiel’s constant presence. If it had been anyone else, it would have come across as clingy and irritating, but Castiel’s innocence was refreshing, as was his limited vocabulary. Dean was convinced that Castiel knew more words than he was letting on, but he didn’t know how to effectively string them together. The things he verbalized tended to be important identities (‘angel’, ‘human’, ‘Dean’) or simple reactions (‘yes’, ‘no’, ‘thank you’). And Dean had to admit, it was nice to drive along in companionable silence, for a change. Sam would always talk when they were in the car together.

Luckily they hadn’t bumped into anyone Dean knew at the store. He still wasn’t sure how he’d explain Castiel’s odd behavior and taciturnity to anyone they might encounter. The easiest explanation would be that Cas was his autistic cousin or something, but Dean felt weird when he imagined lying about Castiel in the angel’s presence. It seemed like it wouldn’t be right.

Shopping completed, they returned home. Castiel instantly cottoned on to the idea of helping Dean carry the bags in, although he didn’t follow Dean’s suggestion of simply magic-ing them into the house. Well, one thing at a time. Baby steps. They could work up to that. Dean couldn’t help but notice how content Castiel was to be in his presence, helping him with whatever he was doing or else simply hovering nearby. “Are you my guardian angel, Cas?” he asked, half-jokingly, once they’d gotten the bags inside. “‘Cause if everybody’s got one but you’re the only one who decided to get actively involved in your person’s life, then I am damn lucky.” 

Castiel gazed happily at him over a carton of milk he was holding as delicately as if it were a treasure. Dean chuckled. “Put it in the fridge.” He gestured. “Over there.” Castiel tugged hesitantly at the refrigerator door until it opened, and then laid the milk carton gently on its side on the top shelf. Dean shook his head, grinning to himself as he turned to empty the next bag. Who’d have thought angel training would be so entertaining?

His grin faded as he allowed his brain to tackle a subject he’d been purposely ignoring for the past week. What would happen when he had to return to work? Usually he was at the auto shop five days a week (sometimes six, depending on workload) from 10 a.m. to 6 p.m. That was a lot of time for Castiel to be left alone. Would the angel vanish again? The only idea Dean had been able to come up with was to focus on bonding as much as possible during the rest of his time off, so Castiel wouldn’t get too worried when Dean was gone. It wasn’t much of a plan, but it was better than nothing.

Unfortunately, the temporary idyll he’d created for himself and his angel came to an end even earlier than he’d expected. One afternoon about two weeks later (he still hadn’t heard from Bobby, and therefore hadn’t gone back to work), Dean was lounging on the deck reading a book while Castiel perched on the railing, letting the wind ruffle his hair, when the phone rang. It was Sam.

“Dean? Are you at home?” His casual tone sounded forced. “I’m in the area and thought I’d swing by. I’ll be there in ten minutes.”


	10. Chapter 10

Dean felt as if a bucket of ice water had been dumped over his head. The strained tone of Sam’s voice had brought the events of that day several weeks ago rushing back with an unpleasant rapidity. After Sam had revealed that he thought Dean was inventing the whole story and had left, Dean had been in a mild state of shock caused by the fight with Sam and Castiel’s unexpected disappearance, and he’d only compounded it by getting drunk and wallowing in his misery that day.

When Castiel had returned to wake and heal him that same evening, the day’s earlier events had faded like a bad dream, and since then he’d continued to suppress them, focusing on enjoying his time off and amusing himself by teaching his angel new things and practicing angel-human communication (progress was slow but steady so far, and by this point Castiel could even speak in full sentences... when he wanted to). But now it was all about to come crashing down, and he only had ten minutes to prepare himself and figure out how he was going to handle the situation.

First question: what to do about Castiel? Should he hide him or not? A big part of him obviously wanted to prove to Sam that he’d been wrong, that the angel was real; but another significant part of him was worried about what might happen when the two of them met, and protectively wanted to hide Castiel away. Realistically speaking, though, hiding him probably wouldn’t work. Castiel wouldn’t understand why he had to stay out of sight.

Dean took a deep breath, emerging from the house back onto the deck, where Castiel was still sitting. “Hey, Cas?”

The angel turned his head, eyes narrowed against the wind that had come up. Earlier it had just been a gentle breeze, but now it was getting quite chilly. “Yes, Dean?” he replied, in that voice that always surprised Dean with its gravelly deepness.

“My brother Sam’s gonna be here in a few minutes.”

Castiel tipped his head, eyes still squinting as the wind lifted his hair. The lack of comprehension was clear on his face.

“Oh right.” Dean sighed. “I forgot, you don’t know Sam. Well, like I said, he’s my brother. Normally we get along great, but recently... well, he thinks you don’t exist.”

A little frown passed over Castiel’s face at the seriousness of Dean’s tone, but it vanished as he continued to listen with a neutral expression.

“He thinks I was just imagining you,” Dean continued. “And last time we talked, I’m pretty sure he was convinced that I was losing my mind. So, yeah, he’s gonna be here any minute, and I don’t really know why. I don’t know what he wants to talk to me about. But anyway, you guys are going to have to meet. So I’ll introduce you and explain about you and everything... I mean, I already told him most of it, but like I said, he thought I was making it up. So I might have to repeat some stuff...” He trailed off, realizing that Castiel probably wasn’t grasping the intricacies of what he was saying. “Right, so, yeah. Sam. His name’s Sam.” Dean gave a weak smile.

“Sam,” Castiel repeated gravely, still sounding somewhat unsure of himself.

“That’s right,” Dean said. “I know, you don’t have any experiences to apply the word to yet, so it doesn’t mean anything to you, but it will in just a few minutes.”

As if on cue, there came a knock on the front door, and Dean clenched his jaw nervously. “That must be him.” He turned to go inside.

Castiel stayed where he was, but a half-whispered “Dean...?” followed him into the house. Steeling himself for what was sure to be an unpleasant encounter, Dean went to the front door and opened it.

Sam looked almost comically unsure of himself, hands stuffed in his pockets and hair tossed all over the place by the wind. He offered his brother a hesitant smile. “Hey. Hope it’s not a problem that I just dropped by like this.”

“Yeah, sure. I mean, no problem. Come on in.” Dean stepped back, holding the door open, very aware of the fact that this gave Sam a direct view through the main room and out the back door to where Castiel was still seated on the deck railing.

Sam stepped into the house and automatically gave his flyaway hair a quick finger-combing. As Dean had predicted, his brother’s gaze went straight to the back door. “Oh, sorry. I didn’t know you had friends over.”

“That’s, uh.” Dean cleared his throat. “That’s Castiel. I told you about him.”

Sam stopped in the middle of his hair-straightening process, mouth half-open as he glanced from Dean to Castiel on the deck and back again. “That––that’s Castiel?” His stutter, Dean knew from years of experience, indicated that his mind was racing at top speed.

“Yup.” It was Dean’s turn to stuff his hands awkwardly in his pockets, lifting his chin in a small, defensive nod. “That’s him. The angel,” he added, though it hurt to say it, in light of their last conversation.

To Dean’s surprise, a faint smile passed across Sam’s face, so fast he almost thought he’d imagined it. Then Sam nodded, as if to himself, and said “Can I, uh, meet him?”

“Sure. I was just telling him about you.” Dean headed for the back door. He’d intended to just call Castiel into the house, but for some reason he found himself stepping out onto the deck and offering Cas a hand instead. “C’mon in. Sam wants to meet you,” he said in a low tone.

Without a pause, Castiel took Dean’s hand and hopped down from the railing. For the briefest of moments they stood there, fingers entwined, before Dean gave the angel’s hand a quick squeeze and dropped it, gesturing for him to enter the house first. With a shy duck of his head, Castiel did so, stopping as soon as he was inside the door and waiting for Dean to join him. Shivering from the cold wind, Dean pushed both the screen door and the inner glass door tightly shut, then turned to face Sam, who was still hovering awkwardly near the sofa.

Dean cleared his throat. “Cas, this is my brother Sam. Sam, this is Castiel.”

Sam nodded twice, quickly, eyes big and puppy-like. “Hi, Castiel. It’s nice to meet you.”

Dean gave the angel a sideways glance and smirked, seeing that he was studying Sam with the same scientific interest he showed for every other new object he encountered. Then, with an uncertain look in Dean’s direction, Castiel nodded as well and pronounced “Sam.”

“That’s right,” Dean couldn’t help saying. As if he’d noticed the proud tone, Sam raised his eyebrows slightly at Dean before returning his attention to Castiel.

“So, Castiel... you’re visiting Dean for a while?” Sam asked politely, shifting on his feet.

Castiel merely continued to examine Sam with great attention, a barely-perceptible frown creasing his forehead.

“He doesn’t talk much,” Dean explained, before brusquely indicating the sofa. “Hey, take a seat, make yourself at home. Cas, you want to make us some tea?”

As a rule, Dean didn’t drink the stuff. He preferred his coffee. But while trying out various food and drink on Castiel, he’d discovered that the angel rather liked tea. After Dean had showed him how to make it the traditional human way, Castiel had surprised him the next day by creating two cups of tea out of thin air. After such an impressive feat, Dean had felt compelled to drink it. It turned out that Castiel’s understanding of the subtleties of taste could do with some improvement, but Dean was so proud of his angel’s skills that he didn’t even care that the ‘tea’ tasted more like moss.

Now, though, upon hearing Dean’s request, Castiel drifted into the kitchen area and set the water on to boil. Dean frowned, watching him. “Cas? Why don’t you just, y’know, make some tea?”

Sam gave his brother a look. “I’m pretty sure that’s what he’s doing, Dean.”

“No, that’s not what I meant!” Dean felt irrational anger rising slowly inside him, and swallowed, trying to hold it back. “Castiel?” He headed over to the stove, where the angel was watching the kettle warm up with frighteningly rapt attention. “Cas?” he asked softly, hoping Sam wouldn’t overhear (although in such a small space, that was a rather vain hope). “Why are you doing it this way? Remember how you did it yesterday? That was so cool. Can you do that again?”

Castiel slowly shifted his eyes to Dean’s face, and Dean suddenly realized the angel was scared. He was doing a good job of concealing it, but those big blue eyes were too expressive, and Dean had learned to read them very well over the past weeks.

“Hey, it’s okay,” he murmured in an even lower tone. “It’s okay, I promise. I don’t know what you’re scared of, but nothing’s gonna happen. Just show Sam what you can do, yeah?”

Castiel’s jaw clenched reflexively––something Dean hadn’t seen happen before––and the kettle suddenly boiled.

Dean’s eyebrows shot up, and he quickly reached to move the screaming kettle off the instantly-hot burner. “Okay, well, that’s something.” Raising his voice a little, Dean said to Sam “Did you see that? See how he made the kettle boil?”

Castiel glanced down at the counter to his left, and three mugs appeared, each with a tea bag in it. Dean poured the water with a wide grin, and when he was finished, he took two mugs and walked over to Sam. “How about that, huh? Still think he’s not an angel?”

Sam had a confused smile on his face. “Uh, yeah, Dean, it’s very sweet of him to make tea for us.” He raised his voice a bit, since Castiel still hadn’t come out of the kitchen area. “Thanks, Castiel.”

Dean huffed an irritated breath. “No, I mean, did you see how he made the mugs appear? And how he made the water boil?”

Sam’s smile faded, and he peered closely at his brother. “Dean? I... I’m not entirely sure what you’re talking about, to be honest.”

Dean groaned. His body must have been blocking the mugs from view, so Sam had missed Castiel’s little trick. And apparently the water wasn’t impressive enough to convince his skeptic of a brother either.

“Whatever. You know, I think he’s feeling a little shy right now. He’s never really been around anyone else before, as far as I know. He just needs to get used to you.” Dean absent-mindedly jiggled his tea bag in his mug, in a vain attempt to make it steep faster. “You should have seen him yesterday, though. He woke me up in the morning and generated a cup of tea right out of thin air in front of my face. It was awesome.” Dean smiled fondly at the memory. “And he was so proud of himself, too... you really should have seen it.”

_Dean floated slowly up from the depths of sleep, his mind drawn back into the physical realm by the enticing sensation of hundreds of tiny feathery touches all over his body, tickling and waking him bit by bit. He mumbled something wordless with a question mark at the end, and heard his name, spoken with a soft smile near his ear, close enough that warm breath curled against his skin. “Dean. Good morning, Dean. Look. I can make tea.” He always talked the most when he thought Dean was still mostly asleep, so Dean had begun pretending it took him much longer to wake up, because he liked listening to Castiel carefully stringing his words together, infusing each one with the same pure emotions that showed so plainly in his eyes. Dean made another sound, lazy and playfully complaining, knowing that his angel wouldn’t miss the truer meaning. It was remarkable, the way Castiel’s understanding bypassed the technicalities of words and went straight to the heart of communication: what was felt and intended, not what was actually said. Dean was learning to appreciate this, and as much as he taught Castiel how to use words, he knew that at the same time, the angel was teaching him how not to._

When he roused himself from his brief reverie and glanced at Sam again, Dean observed a very strange expression on his brother’s face. There was an awkward smile twisting his lips, but his brows were knotted in concern.

“Uh, Dean,” Sam started in a low tone, with a quick glance over to where Castiel was still fidgeting with something on the counter. “Don’t get me wrong, I mean, I’m really glad and all that you’re so... happy with Castiel––”

Dean glared at him. “Dude, you make it sound like we’re a couple!”

“––But listen,” Sam continued in a rush. “If what you told me is true, that you randomly found this guy naked in your backyard a couple of weeks ago, then, well, you know you can’t just keep him!” He let out a short, nervous laugh. “I mean, you’ve got to know that’s not okay, right? He’s probably someone’s brother or husband or son. Maybe someone comes to visit him every day at some hospital, and talks to him and reminds him that he’s got people who love him, and you’ve taken that all away from him. He’s not your pet or something. I mean, I’ve only known him a couple of minutes, and I can already tell that he’s... well, you know.” Sam made an apologetic grimace. “He’s not okay. He clearly needs to be in an institution with care and supervision, not just hanging out at the house of some random guy.”

Dean was staring at Sam, getting more and more indignant as his younger brother continued to talk to him in rapid, hushed tones, but Sam wasn’t done yet.

“Plus, Dean, you understand this is actually illegal, right? As long as you’re not making any efforts to get him back to his people, you’re effectively this guy’s kidnapper. And that is a serious crime. Especially considering his condition.”

“What the hell do you mean, his condition?” Dean hissed. A quick glance towards the kitchen showed him that Castiel was still there, hunched over his mug in the corner. Even the angle of his shoulders looked utterly miserable.

Sam sighed. “I mean, look at him! In the eyes of the law he’d clearly be defined as mentally incompetent. He’s not able to be legally responsible for himself. This means––”

“Shut up. Stop talking, Sam,” Dean said between gritted teeth. “I have heard enough. I’m not going to sit here and let you insult my friend Cas––”

“I’m not insulting him!” Sam exclaimed, before quickly lowering the volume of his voice again. “I’m trying to help him. You’re the one who’s kind of gone off the rails here, Dean, if you’ll pardon my saying so. I’m worried about you––you could get in big trouble if anyone finds out what you’re doing––and I’m worried about Castiel, and I’m worried about his family, who are probably going out of their minds looking for him. Do you seriously not see what I’m saying here?!”

Dean took a long, shaky breath, digging his fingernails so hard into the palms of his hands that it stung. “Sam. All your arguments would be totally convincing, except that you’re still missing the most fundamental fact here. So I’m going to say it one more time: Castiel is an angel.”

The look in Sam’s eyes at that moment was one that Dean had never thought he’d see, and even through the haze of his anger it sent a chill down his spine. It was a kind of distant, uncomprehending pity, and it communicated to Dean, more clearly than any of Sam’s words had, exactly what chance he had of getting his brother to believe him: zero.

“Dean,” Sam whispered, with a break in his voice. “I’m sorry. Castiel is not an angel.”


	11. Chapter 11

After Sam had left, Dean was filled with undirected fury that kept bubbling out of him at random moments and causing him to do things like kick the door frame or hurl the remote across the room. The worst part was how it terrified Castiel. The angel tucked himself up into the smallest possible ball on one end of the sofa and clutched the largest pillow to his chest. Those huge blue eyes followed Dean’s every move, back and forth. When Dean started down the hall towards his own room, Castiel hurriedly got up from the sofa and came and peered around the corner into the hall to see what he was doing, and Dean sighed and stopped in his tracks and came back.

“I’m sorry, Cas. I really am. I wish you didn’t have to see me like this. God DAMN it!” he shouted at the ceiling, clenching his fists again.

Instead of wincing as he had before, Castiel merely tensed and focused all his attention on Dean, his eyes burning like two icy flames. Dean was thrown off by the new energy he suddenly sensed from the angel, and paused to return his gaze with a frown, before something clicked in his head.

“Oh. I said––do you not like it when I say that?”

Castiel slowly shook his head, his eyes still fixed on Dean.

“Sorry.” In a rush, all Dean’s rage seemed to drain out of him, so suddenly that he found himself sitting down hard on the floor before he knew it. He drew a long, ragged breath, and buried his head in his hands. There was the soft sound of hesitant footsteps, and he heard Castiel settling on the floor to his left before a feather-light touch brushed his shoulder.

“Castiel,” Dean said, his voice muffled by his hands. “I don’t know what to do. Sam is... Sam is all I’ve got, really. Or all I had, until you came along. And now, I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I’ve known you for less than a month, and already you’re just... part of my life. And it’s not like I can undo that. Or even want to. Hell, I don’t have a clue how it happened in the first place.” He lifted his head. “But I do know one thing. You say you’re an angel, and I believe you. And if you... fell... from Heaven, or whatever, into my backyard... well, then, I think there must have been some kind of reason for that. So I’m not giving you up easy, okay?”

The feathery touch stroked down his back, a tentative caress that was the angel’s only answer. Until he let out a soft breath of his own and whispered “Okay, Dean.”

***

The next morning, Dean was awoken by a hand on his shoulder, shaking him. “No, c’mon, Cas, lemme sleep some more,” he grumbled.

“It’s not him, Dean,” said Sam’s voice.

“What?” Blinking blearily, Dean pulled himself up into a sitting position. “Sam? What are you doing here?”

Sam’s face slowly came into focus. He was standing by Dean’s bed, looking very uncomfortable, with tired eyes and his hair even messier than usual. “We need to talk to you, Dean.”

“What––we? Who’s we?” Dean’s brain was desperately trying to get up to speed. “Wait, am I supposed to be back at work today? Shit!”

“No, it’s Sunday,” Sam said. “But Bobby’s here too. And Ellen. Get dressed and come on out. I’ll start some coffee.”

“Whuh...?” Dean was left rubbing his eyes in confusion as Sam ducked out of his bedroom.

In a few minutes, dressed in the first things he’d picked up off the floor, Dean emerged into the living room to find Sam, Bobby, and Ellen, as advertised. He stopped, rubbed his eyes again, and took a second look. They were still there.

“Why the hell are you all in my house?” he asked in utter bewilderment.

“Morning, Dean,” said Ellen. Her voice was a mixture of stern and sympathetic. “Sorry about the Spanish Inquisition, I know you weren’t expecting it. Sam had the idea and needed some backup, Bobby was the natural next choice as pretty much the only figure of authority in your life, and I was hooked into the whole crazy plan because they apparently needed ‘the female touch’ to bring it all together.” She snorted. “Not sure if I believe that cock-and-bull story. But hey, I’ve seen you around the Roadhouse and I think you’re a good kid. You deserve better than this.”

“Better... than what?” Dean was still in shock.

“Better than a long drop off a short rope, idjit,” Bobby cut in. “Which is where you were headed. Metaphorically speakin’. Or, well, who knows...”

“What Bobby’s trying to say,” Sam interrupted, shooting Dean’s boss a reproachful look, “Is that we’re all worried about you. You’ve been working yourself till you drop, according to Bobby; regularly drinking before noon and throughout the afternoon and evening, according to Ellen; and, well...” He pursed his lips. “You’ve been getting some pretty weird ideas and saying some disturbing stuff, to be honest. You’re my brother, Dean.” And there they were, the infamous puppy-eyes. They were bound to come out sooner or later. “I think you’ve been working too hard and drinking too hard and spending too much time alone, and you’re stressing yourself out. And who knows where that could lead? I want to help you, Dean. We all do.”

During Sam’s speech, Ellen had gotten up and handed Dean a mug of coffee, and after the first couple of sips, Dean finally felt the jigsaw pieces of his brain falling into place again. And the picture they made was lacking one very important component. “Where’s Castiel?”

Bobby raised his eyes to the ceiling, and Sam practically winced. Ellen sighed, and when she spoke again her voice was apologetic. “He’s not here anymore, Dean. We took him somewhere where people could take care of him. He’s in good hands, don’t worry. We thought it would be easier for you to focus if he was gone by the time we woke you up.”

“You––WHAT?” Dean burst out. “What the fuck have you people done with my angel?!”

Ellen was watching him with a soft, pained expression, Bobby tugged his baseball cap lower over his eyes and grimaced uncomfortably, and Sam had that same ‘tragically righteous’ look that Dean had seen him get during high school debate classes. It was the face of a prosecutor who passionately believed in his cause, not just the facts of the matter but the emotional truths behind them. It was what would make Sam a brilliant lawyer someday, and it was what made Dean despair of reaching him here and now.

Still clutching his mug in shock, Dean collapsed into one of the two chairs at the table. It was Castiel’s chair. But Castiel was gone, and Dean had no idea where he was, or if he would ever see him again. All he knew was that he wanted to get through this living nightmare as soon as possible. So he took another big gulp of coffee, not caring when it burned his tongue, and said gruffly “If you’re here to talk to me, start talking.”


	12. Chapter 12

Just like that other horrible day almost a month ago when Dean had first failed to make his brother believe in Castiel, this day dragged by at a torturously slow pace. Except it was even worse now, because instead of being able to provide himself some cold comfort with the idea that maybe Castiel had left of his own free will, Dean knew for a fact that the angel had been taken away to some unspeakable institution somewhere, where he was surely being held in some sterile cold hospital room, alone and scared and confused, while officials searched computers and flipped through files and did tests on him, trying to fit him into their heartless world of facts and statistics and medications and visiting hours and wristbands and numbers instead of names. What would he say when they asked him for his surname? Would he even talk to them at all? Or would he clam up again completely, reverting to the shy shell of silence that Dean had coaxed him out of, step by step and day by day?

With thoughts like these running incessantly through his mind, Dean made no secret of the fact that he wasn’t paying the slightest bit of attention to the arguments of his captors, as he couldn’t help thinking of them. They took turns talking to him, trying to get through to him with reasoning (Sam) or the ‘tough love’ approach (Bobby and Ellen), but Dean merely drained mug after mug of coffee, his scalded tongue numb and unfeeling.

He wasn’t aware of them leaving, but eventually he found himself alone again, the stench of coffee suddenly unbearable in his nostrils. His stomach heaved, and he swallowed hard, trying to get a grip on himself. On the small table by the door was a note in Sam’s handwriting: _Be back tomorrow. Took your beer. Sorry._

Dean found himself caring less than he’d expected. His stomach was already sloshing with enough coffee that pouring beer in there too would just have been stupid. He knew he ought to eat something to combat the raging buzz of caffeine in his veins, but his hands were shaking and he couldn’t cook in this state. There was some yogurt in the fridge. He couldn’t effectively use a spoon, so he managed to drink it instead. Some of it got on his shirt, but he really didn’t care. The yogurt didn’t do much to calm his over-caffeinated nerves.

Dean sat on the sofa and stared at the dead eye of the television staring back at him. When he couldn’t take it any longer, he got up and went to the back door and stared at the spot on the railing where Castiel used to sit. The ache suddenly hit him like a punch to the gut. He missed Castiel so badly. He had been the only soft spot in Dean’s life, the moment of comfort and relief in a world of hard edges, the sanctuary that held and protected him.

How had this strange man who fell from the sky become such a vital part of Dean’s life in such a short period of time? He couldn’t explain it. He didn’t want to explain it. Castiel wouldn’t care about explanations. They were all just words. Castiel listened to emotions, intentions, the feelings that shape the words, not the words themselves. The words don’t matter. They do more harm than good.

Dropping his spoon in the sink, Dean felt a single tear fall unbidden from his eye. He lifted his hand to wipe it away. The sense memory came back with a vengeance: he had been standing right in this spot just about a month ago when Castiel had touched him for the first time, hesitantly lifting a hand to Dean’s eye to heal his pain. This same eye. Dean rubbed it angrily and jerked his hand away.

Why did the people who wanted to help him end up hurting him so much? Dean blinked rapidly to preemptively stop any more tears from falling. He had to make them believe. If he could just somehow convince them to believe in Castiel, then they would help him get the angel back. But what kind of proof could he possibly find that would be strong enough to convince them all that Castiel was indeed an angel? Dean had no idea.

***

The first morning without Castiel was the hardest. Waking up alone in his house was more difficult than it had ever been before. The sunlight falling in the window and stroking his back almost made him smile, before he woke up the rest of the way and realized what it was.

Once the memories had fallen back into his head like heavy stones, Dean sat up in bed robotically, got up, got dressed, and turned on his computer. He couldn’t face the idea of coffee. He started by searching the internet for Castiel’s name, but didn’t come up with anything helpful. So he began compiling a list of all the hospitals and mental institutions within fifty miles of Campbell, with the intent of calling each one and asking if his ‘cousin’ had been brought in yesterday.

Dean only had seven locations on the list by the time the doorbell rang. From the amount of light that was blocked out by the visitor, he knew it must be Sam. He considered not letting him in, but that was pointless. Sam had an extra key, and he wouldn’t give up easily. He’d always been a stubborn kid. Especially when it came to the things that really mattered in his life. Like Dean.

After a brief pause, Dean stood up and went to answer the door.

“Hey, Dean. Can I come in?”

Without a word, Dean stood back, holding the door open. Sam swallowed, and stepped in past him.

“I know you’re probably mad at me right now.”

Dean went over to the sofa and sat down on it, prepared to wait, the same way he’d spent all of yesterday waiting while they talked at him.

Sam sighed, and came and sat next to him. “Listen, I feel really bad about what we did yesterday. And if there had been any other way to get through to you, believe me, I would have taken it. But you weren’t... we weren’t on the same wave-length anymore. I don’t know what happened, Dean.” He took a breath, and paused. “But the important thing is––and I know you’re probably not in a state to hear this right now, but I have to say it––the important thing is that you’re my brother, and I love you, and I really want you to be okay. I know you’ve never cared that much about finding a social scene to fit into. And that wasn’t a problem back in Lawrence, because we grew up knowing everybody in the neighborhood. But here, you’re still not putting any effort into making friends or anything, and I’m worried about––”

“Making friends?” Dean spat, cutting harshly into his brother’s words. “I just managed to make one of the best friends I’ve ever had, and the first thing you do is show up and take him away from me.”

“Dean,” Sam argued. “Castiel is _not_ friend material. He’s mentally unbalanced and barely able to communicate. You can’t make friends with crazy, possibly homeless guys who randomly wander into your backyard!”

“He did not ‘wander’!” Dean yelled. “He fell! From the sky! Smashed my freaking pool cover to pieces!”

Sam looked taken aback. “Really? You didn’t mention that before. That he broke your pool cover, I mean. That’s... kind of disturbing.”

Dean groaned. “He didn’t attack it with an axe or some crazy shit like that. He broke it with the force of his body when he fell from Heaven. And then he fixed it.”

Sam pressed his lips together. “Okay, fine. Anyway, I wanted to tell you something else.” He reached into his breast pocket and pulled out a slip of paper. “This is the phone number of a psychotherapist here in Campbell. I know, I know, just hear me out. She’s supposed to be really good at helping people achieve balance in their lives. I’m getting the impression that your life is... kind of unbalanced. So I really think you should consider talking to this lady. Just one session, just to try it out, and if you don’t like it, nobody will make you keep going.”

“But, let me guess,” Dean said dully. “You are going to make me go to the first session.”

Sam’s face fell. “Yeah. Well. It’s only half an hour, I really don’t think it’ll be that bad. It’s next week, Thursday afternoon. I’ll go shopping for you first, bring the food back and then take you to the appointment.”

“Oh, come ON,” Dean growled. “You don’t need to go shopping for me! I’m not an invalid, I can do it myself!”

“The thing is...” Sam suddenly looked unsure of himself. “You don’t have your car.”

“What?! Where is she?”

“No, I mean, she’s here, but I’ve still got your car keys.”

“Well, give ‘em back.”

Sam bit his lip. “Ellen said that if we let you have the car, you’d probably go straight to all the local hospitals and start harassing them and trying to find Castiel. So, we were thinking it might be better if you just stayed put for a while.”

Dean stared at him in disbelief. “You’re telling me I’m a prisoner. I’m under house arrest. What the fuck, Sam.”

For the first time in the conversation, Sam looked truly pained. “To be honest, I wasn’t really on board with the idea myself at first, but I have to admit Ellen has a point. Don’t you think?”

Dean gave a smile with no humor in it. “Damn straight, Ellen has a point. Car keys or no car keys, I’m going to figure out a way to get myself to every damn institution in the country if that’s what it takes to find Cas. There’s no way you’re keeping me here. So you might as well just quit trying.”

Sam was still for a moment, then nodded. “Yeah. I know you. You’d figure out a way.” He reached into his jeans pocket and pulled out the Impala’s keys. Dean watched impassively as Sam placed them on the coffee table. “Please don’t, though,” Sam added.

“Fuck you,” was Dean’s only response.

“He’s a fragile person,” Sam insisted. “He needs things that you can’t give him. I’m sorry, Dean, but Castiel really needs professional care, and you have to let that happen. I know you’re convinced he’s an angel, and I’m not sure why. He seems like a lovely person, and hey, who knows––maybe when he’s all better, you guys can still be friends. But he’s in a vulnerable state right now, and you’re not what he needs.”

Something inside Dean wanted to yell, _I AM what he needs! That’s what he’s been trying to show me since the day we met!_ But he bit back the words and simply picked up his car keys. “Just go, Sam. I have some research to do.”

Sam nodded, as if he’d been expecting this, and stood up. Instead of heading to the door, though, he walked over to the laptop on the table and glanced at the screen. Upon seeing Dean’s project, he grimaced but didn’t say anything about it.

“Bye, Dean. Call if you need anything. I’ll come by again day after tomorrow.”

“Don’t bother,” Dean shot back, although he suspected it wouldn’t make a difference. Sam quietly let himself out, and Dean was alone again.

The silence of a house without Castiel in it was worlds apart from the silence of a house with Castiel in it.


	13. Chapter 13

The second morning without Castiel was the hardest. This time even Dean’s subconscious mind knew that the angel was gone, so the touch of the sunshine on his cheek in the morning merely felt cruel. Dean woke up and lay in bed for a while, wondering why he hadn’t heard from Bobby yet. He wondered if he still had his job. He found that he didn’t really care.

He spent the morning calling the hospitals he’d put on his list yesterday. The main discovery he made was that it was damn hard to get a mental hospital to give out any information whatsoever over the phone. So after a lunch he didn’t really taste, he hit the road, heading for the first place on his list.

Feeling reckless, he made up a story about how his cousin Castiel had been drugged and kidnapped by some estranged family members, who were thought to have checked him into a mental institution under a false name to keep him from escaping. He accompanied the story with a detailed physical description of Castiel, wishing he had a photo to show them.

After visiting three different places, he hadn’t had any luck and had received a lot of weird looks. It was getting late and there was no point continuing his search today. It would have to wait until tomorrow. Dean returned home.

***

The third morning without Castiel was the hardest. Dean woke up to the sound of footsteps moving about the house, and his heart leapt with joy. But when he stumbled out into the main room he was greeted with the sight of Sam pouring some hot water into a mug for tea. The disappointment almost made him feel physically sick.

He sat at the dining table, practically comatose, waiting for Sam to finish puttering around and leave. Once he was gone, Dean made a list of new addresses and headed out again. That day he managed to get to seven different places, but had no luck at any of them. He drove home that night with tears blurring his vision, and barely avoided causing an accident at the four-way stop near his house.

***

The fourth morning without Castiel was the hardest. And so it continued.

Every day Dean added names and addresses to his list and drove out to try his story once again, and every day he had no luck and returned home broken in defeat. Sam came to visit him every day except Tuesday, when he had so many classes there was no time to get off campus. Bobby left another voicemail saying that Dean still had his job whenever he felt ready to come back, but that there was no hurry and he ought to figure his shit out first.

Dean managed to get through the therapy appointment, somehow. The therapist, a blind woman named Pamela, wasn’t as bad as he’d expected, but they spent the half-hour session at loggerheads because she wanted him to talk and he didn’t want to talk. He’d learned his lesson, and he wasn’t going to go blabbing about angels to anyone else, especially to some shrink he barely knew.

***

It was December 16th, almost exactly a month after Castiel had been taken away, when Dean found him again. His list covered five full pages by now, each hospital name and address scratched out after he’d had no luck there.

At a place almost sixty miles north of Campbell, he walked into an institution called Black Diamond Hospital and recited his story for the hundredth time to the young nurse at reception. She must have been new. She didn’t say “Could you wait just a minute please?” or look in any files or call anyone on the phone. Instead, her eyes lit up and she said “Oh, I think I know who you’re talking about!” She got up from behind her desk. “He’s a sweetie. Doesn’t talk much, does he? I’m so sorry to hear about your family situation, that’s just terrible. Follow me, he’s probably in the garden. No one will mind if I leave the desk for a minute, we’re having a very quiet day.”

“He’s outside? In this weather?” Dean asked, too shocked to be able to say anything else. It was an awful day; freezing rain had been pouring down since morning, and it was already late in the afternoon.

The nurse laughed and shook her head in agreement. “He’s a funny one, your cousin. Insists on going outside every day, no matter how bad the weather is. We make sure he’s bundled up tight, of course. I swear, he wouldn’t get dressed in the morning if you didn’t remind him! Sometimes I’m sure he’s going to get sick from being outside in the cold so much, but he never does. It’s remarkable.” She had led the way to a large set of glass doors leading out into a walled garden area. “See if you can convince him to come in. He needs to get his meds.”

Dean’s mouth was suddenly dry. He took hold of the door’s handle and pulled it open. Outside the rain had let up a bit, but it was still drizzling and the air was chilly. He automatically adjusted his collar and stepped out, barely aware of the nurse gently closing the door behind him.

Castiel was standing under a small twisty tree, probably a fruit tree, although you couldn’t tell at this time of year. When he turned his head and saw Dean, everything seemed to stand still for a moment. His blue eyes widened in wonder and his mouth weakly formed Dean’s name, but he was too rooted to the spot to move.

Dean approached him slowly, heart beating like a machine gun. “Cas?”

This time he heard it, just barely, gruff and stunned and worshipful. “Dean?”

“Yeah.” A tremendous waterfall of relief poured over Dean, his knees almost shaking with the intensity of it. “Castiel. I can’t believe I found you.”

The next moments blurred together as if the rain had started up again, and Dean could feel the heat of Castiel’s body in his arms as he hugged the angel tighter than he’d ever hugged anyone before. After a few seconds of dazed stillness, Castiel lifted his own hands and placed them against the back of Dean’s shoulders, a light reverent touch, as if he thought any sudden harsh movements might break the spell of this dream.

“It’s real, Cas,” Dean mumbled into his neck. “I’m here. I’m gonna take you away with me. Everything’s going to be all right. I promise.”

Castiel’s voice was muffled, whether by Dean’s jacket or by emotion he couldn’t tell, but he understood every word when the angel spoke.

“I believe you, Dean.”


	14. Chapter 14

Once they were back inside, the friendly young nurse led them to a visiting area, explaining apologetically that she couldn’t let Dean into Castiel’s own room without proof of family relation or legal guardianship.

Dean made sure they were seated in the farthest corner from the door, even though no one else was in the visiting room. “Castiel.” As if to convince himself of the angel’s reality, he took both his hands tightly in his own, and let out a long, shuddering breath. “I can’t believe I found you,” he repeated.

A smile touched Castiel’s lips. “I can,” he said. “I knew you would come, Dean.”

“What I don’t understand is, why didn’t you just leave?” Dean asked. “I mean, you’re an angel, a place like this can’t hold you if you don’t want to be here. Right?”

Head-tip. Dean had forgotten how much he missed that. “I thought...” Castiel’s voice was still as gravelly as it had ever been. “I thought I should be here.”

“What? No!” Dean exclaimed.

“Sam, and Ellen, and Bobby––” Castiel listed the names carefully–– “They said I need help.” There was an unspoken question hidden behind the statement.

Dean huffed in irritation. “They’re wrong. They have no idea what they’re talking about. Listen, Cas: they don’t believe you’re an angel. They think you’re just some crazy human dude. You need to prove to them that you’re an angel. That’s the only way we can all get out of this mess. Heck, they don’t just think you’re insane; they think I am too!”

This brought a frown to Castiel’s face. “Proof.”

“Yeah. We need to show them some proof that you’re an angel,” Dean repeated. “Think you can do that?”

Castiel slowly shook his head.

“What? Come on! It’s easy, you just have to do one of your miracles in front of them. It doesn’t even have to be a big thing. Just, I dunno... show off your mojo, and then they’ll believe us.”

Castiel was still shaking his head. “Belief, Dean. Not proof.”

Dean sighed in exasperation. “But they won’t believe until they’ve seen some proof!”

Castiel frowned again. “Dean. That makes no sense.”

“Huh? Yes it does.”

There was a short tense moment as they looked at each other. Then Castiel spoke again, slowly but unfalteringly. “Dean. You believed in me. So I showed you miracles. But you believed, first.”

Dean stared. “I did?”

“Yes.” Castiel nodded, very sure of himself.

Dean swallowed. “Oh. Well, uh... okay.” He took a deep breath. “We can talk about that more later. Right now, we have to get you out of here.” He stopped.

Castiel gave a tiny smile. “What’s the plan?”

Dean smirked back at him. “You know what, I think you missed me. You never used to talk this much.” Was it his imagination, or did the angel blush faintly upon hearing this? Dean’s amusement quickly faded, though. “I actually don’t have a plan,” he admitted. “As long as I can’t prove I’m related to you or something, they won’t let me take you away. We need to get out of here ASAP, though. If they get suspicious about the story I told them, they might call the cops to check up on it, and then we’ll be in deep shit. So we’ve got to figure something out, fast.”

“Proof,” Castiel repeated, looking thoughtful.

“Yeah. Like, I dunno, a piece of paper saying I’m your legal guardian, or some identity documents, or a file from another hospital, or... just, you know, something that shows I have the right to take you with me.”

Castiel mused for a moment longer, and then nodded. “Come, Dean.” He got up and headed for the door. Dean followed in confusion.

When they reached the reception area, the young nurse was behind the desk again, talking on the phone. Dean tensed up, but he quickly realized it was just a personal call. They hadn’t gotten busted yet. She glanced up up them with a smile and said “Suze, I’ve got to go. Call you back later, yeah?”

As she hung up the phone, Castiel produced a sheaf of documents from nowhere and laid them on the desk in front of her. She raised her eyebrows, looking down at them. Dean had no idea what was going on, but he trusted Castiel, so he said in a confident tone “I think you’ll find that everything’s in order, ma’am.”

The nurse lifted the top sheet and glanced at the first document below it, and a wide smile spread across her face. She flipped through the rest of the stack quickly, nodding to herself. “Okey-dokey, then I’ll just ask you to sign the release form.” She handed over a clipboard with a pen attached to it, and when Dean had finished signing and handed it back, he noticed how her eyes were twinkling. “You know, when I saw how you greeted him, I guessed he wasn’t your cousin,” she said in a confidential tone. “There’s no need to be shy about that. We’re practically in San Francisco here.” Turning to Castiel while Dean frowned in confusion, she added “It’s been lovely to get to know you, hon, and I wish you both all the best for the future.”

“Thank you,” Castiel said solemnly.

“Oh, he talks now!” She chuckled in delight. “You two are obviously good for each other. Goodbye!”

Outside, the rain had finally let up, and the clouds were moving fast across the sky, promising a change in the weather. Dean was still kind of stunned as he climbed into the driver’s seat of the Impala, Castiel taking his place in the passenger seat like a natural.

“What, uh...” Dean started, and stopped to gather his thoughts before starting again. “What were all those papers you gave her?”

Silence. When he glanced over at Castiel, he was struck dumb by the soft, adoring smile that met his gaze. It took his breath away, and for a moment Dean forgot what he was doing. Then, shaking his head, he started the engine.

“Right, I should’ve known you’d be mysterious about that. Well, no complaints here. I’m just glad to have you back.”

The warmth from the passenger seat was almost tangible. Dean couldn’t keep a grin off his face as he pulled out onto the road. And if he had to blink rather rapidly at first before he was able to make out the words on the road sign to the highway, at least there was no one around to notice except for a fallen angel. And he wasn’t about to tell anyone.


	15. Chapter 15

Back at home, Dean kept having to touch Castiel to reassure himself that the angel was actually there. Castiel didn’t seem to mind. He simply glowed every time Dean looked at him or touched him. They didn’t get much done that evening. Dean turned on the television at some point, but he couldn’t have told you later what channel it was tuned to. They sat together on the sofa (which Castiel had immediately made into a bed again, apparently preferring it that way), well-supplied with beer and snacks that went mostly undrunk and uneaten. Dean kept stealing glances at the contented angel next to him, unable to wrap his mind around the reality of the situation.

He wasn’t naive, though. He knew that something would have to be done about his well-intentioned intervention team. Sam, Bobby, and Ellen would eventually find out that Castiel was back, one way or another, and Dean would prefer to be the one to control how that happened.

Unfortunately, he wasn’t. The very next day his phone rang, just after they’d finished eating breakfast. It was Sam, and he was spluttering in shock, barely able to put a sentence together. “Wait, hold up,” Dean said. “I can’t understand you. Take a deep breath and start at the beginning. What the hell is going on?”

Castiel, eyes very wide, gathered all the breakfast dishes to himself and nervously cleaned them in a nanosecond. Dean tried to give him a reassuring smile, and got up from the table, moving away so as not to be directing his irritated vibes at the sensitive angel.

“What have you done with Castiel?” Sam was barely managing to keep his voice controlled.

“What have I done with him? What have I DONE with him? I found him and rescued him from that shithole hospital you guys dumped him at, that’s what I did with him! What, are you going to come back and take him away again?” he growled.

“Well, no, I can’t, not legally,” Sam replied, his frustration and confusion evident. “Because you guys are apparently married now?!”

“Um, hang on a second.” Dean took the phone away from his ear, looked at it, and then returned it to his ear. “I think I misheard you. What did you just say?”

“You and Castiel. Are married to each other. That’s what the people at the hospital told me.”

“You talked to the people at the hospital?” Dean asked, trying to keep his voice steady, more for Castiel’s sake than for Sam’s.

“Yeah, I called them to see how he was doing. What, did you think I was just going to let him rot there forever? I saw how much he means to you, Dean! Even if I don’t understand it, it’s not my place to judge it. So yeah, I wanted to make sure he was okay. I called to check up on him and they told me he was gone, his husband came with all the necessary release papers, Castiel’s identification documents and his previous hospital files and their marriage certificate and everything. So I asked where this guy lives, because I thought you and Cas might want to see each other again sometime and continue your friendship or whatever, and they told me he was from Campbell and his name was Dean Winchester! So yeah, according to the hospital, which is in possession of all the official documents, you guys are married.” Sam stopped to catch his breath. “Feel like explaining?”

Dean was in shock. He turned around and looked at Castiel, who tilted his head curiously in response. “Um...” Slowly, Dean’s shock was melting into amusement, and he could feel the beginnings of a rumbling laugh starting deep in his belly. “I think I might know what’s going on.” Without bothering to cover the mouthpiece, Dean moved the phone a few inches away from his face and raised his voice. “Hey, Cas? Did you invent a bunch of documents saying we were married so I could break you out of that place?”

Castiel blinked a few times, and a slight flush rose in his cheeks. He nodded once.

Dean couldn’t hold it back anymore, and he burst out laughing. He could hear Sam’s voice squawking in confusion from the other end of the phone, but he didn’t care. “Castiel,” he finally wheezed. “You are somethin’ else, man. C’mere.” He reached over and affectionately ruffled the angel’s hair, getting another head-tip and a full-on blast of those blue eyes.

After eventually catching his breath, Dean picked up the phone again. “Sammy? You still there? Sorry about that. Yeah, um, it looks like Castiel made all those papers himself.”

“I don’t think so, Dean,” Sam said seriously. “Those people are very cautious, they wouldn’t let themselves be taken in by falsified documents.”

“I’m sure they wouldn’t,” Dean agreed. “But they weren’t falsified. I said he made them, and I mean that literally. It’s a miracle, Sam. He’s an angel, he can make shit. And I doubt he understands the difference between real and fake documents anyway, so yup, sounds like I’m a married man now. Thanks for telling me, Cas,” he added with gentle sarcasm. The angel bit back a smile and lowered his eyes.

Sam was silent for a moment before saying “Can I come over?”

Dean sighed. He didn’t really want to say yes, but he knew he couldn’t avoid this forever. “Yeah, okay. We’ll be here.”

***

Dean wasn’t sure how he’d expected the reunion of Sam and Castiel to go, considering the last time they saw each other must have been when Sam and his accomplices were stealing Castiel away from Dean, telling him he ‘needed help’ and had to be brought to a hospital far away. But luckily things stayed pretty calm.

When Sam stepped into the house, Dean glanced at Castiel right away, and saw that cold flame of warning in his eyes. It was beautiful and terrifying. When he looked back to Sam, his little brother’s eyes were wide in shock. Clearly Sam hadn’t seen this powerful side of Castiel before, and he was quickly re-evaluating his opinion of the guy.

Dean couldn’t hold back a little smirk of self-satisfaction. His angel could be scary when he wanted. “Come on in, Sam,” he said casually. “Sit down.”

Apparently satisfied that his message had been communicated, Castiel moved into the kitchen and put water on for tea. Dean mentally sighed. But he’d decided not to pressure the angel about showing off his powers anymore. If Cas didn’t want to, he didn’t have to. They would figure out a way to work around it.

“How, uh––” Sam’s gaze trailed after Castiel, and then returned to Dean. “How are you feeling?”

“Fine. Like I always was. Except for when you took my angel away.”

Dean hadn’t realized this was the first time he’d used the phrase ‘my angel’ in Castiel’s presence, but he became aware of it when Cas immediately turned his head and stared across the room at Dean with a combination of surprise, shy pleasure, and something rather like hope.

Sam, ever observant, didn’t miss it either, but he chose not to comment, for which Dean was grateful. Instead, he looked suitably ashamed and nodded at Dean’s words. “I meant it then, when I said I was sorry, and I still mean it now. But we thought it was the right thing to do. I knew you were stubborn––” he let out a wry chuckle–– “But I didn’t think you’d find him that fast.”

“Yeah, well, I work damn fast when I want to,” Dean said grimly.

As if silently seconding Dean’s words, Castiel appeared next to them with three mugs of perfectly brewed tea. Dean’s had sugar and milk, the only way he could stomach tea. Sam’s and Castiel’s didn’t.

“Huh, that was quick. Thanks.” Sam offered Castiel a timid smile and received a nod in response.

“Yes, it was,” Dean said pointedly, but didn’t push the matter. Instead he smiled at Castiel too, and felt absurdly proud when the angel beamed back at him.

“Um...” Sam swirled his tea, holding the mug in both hands and staring down into it. “Castiel, I think I owe you an apology. Not that I think what we did was wrong––I mean, I still don’t even know... what’s going on with you.” He grimaced. “Sorry, this is being a bad apology. I am sorry for taking you away from Dean against your will, when you clearly wanted to stay with him. I thought––we thought––that we were helping both you and him. I promise, that’s the only reason we did it.”

Castiel was silent for a moment and then said quietly “I accept your apology, Sam.”

Sam looked surprised to hear a complete sentence come out of the angel’s mouth. “Oh, uh, thanks.”

There was an awkward moment when they all sipped their tea at once. Dean grimaced and put his down. He really didn’t like tea. If Castiel created it out of thin air, then he would drink it, because the guy deserved that, at least. But otherwise, he just couldn’t handle the stuff.

Sam was the first to break the silence. “Listen, Castiel, I... I’d be interested to know where you got all those documents. You know, saying you and Dean are married. Because you’re not, really... are you?”

“No,” Dean scoffed automatically, before thinking to glance at Castiel. But the angel was looking down into his teacup and Dean couldn’t make out his expression. “And I told you, Sam. He made them.”

Sam gave Dean a look, and then returned his attention to Castiel. “Is that true?”

Castiel reluctantly lifted his head to meet Sam’s eyes, and gave a single nod.

Sam pursed his lips and sat back, tapping his fingers on the side of his mug. “Hm. Well, I don’t want to be a downer, but Castiel, you ought to know that forgery is a crime. You could get in a lot of trouble if anyone finds out that you did that.”

Dean groaned impatiently, but Castiel waited until Sam was done speaking, and then asked a single question. “Sam, what do you believe?”

Sam was caught off-guard. “Believe? You mean like, religion?” Castiel just waited and watched, so Sam continued, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly. “Well, I’m not really... religious. I’m guessing you are, right?” His eyes lit up as if a thought had just occurred to him. “Are you part of a religious sect called Angels? Because if so, that would explain a lot.”

“No,” Castiel said firmly. “I am an angel of Heaven.”

There was a long moment where nobody seemed to breathe. “Oh,” said Sam in a small voice. “I see.” He sent Dean a pleading look out of the corner of his eye, but Dean just raised his eyebrows and sat back. No help from this quarter.

“Well...” Sam said lamely. “I guess I’d better be going. Thanks for the tea, Castiel. It was delicious.”

Once Sam was gone, Dean let out an appreciative chuckle. “You’re a hard hitter, huh, Cas? You don’t dodge the big questions.” He shook his head with a grin. “I haven’t seen Sammy that uncomfortable in ages.” His grin faded. “Wish he could just accept it already, though.”

“Give him time,” said Castiel.

Dean sighed. “Yeah. I guess you’re right. Hey, what do you say we go for a drive?”

“Or a walk,” came the counter-suggestion. Once Castiel had discovered walks, he had become very fond of them, and more often than not he was able to convince Dean to come along with him.

“It’s cold outside!” Dean protested.

Head-tip. Blue eyes.

“All right, fine, you win. I have to buy some Christmas presents anyway. Let’s walk into town.”

Castiel was pleased.


	16. Chapter 16

The next day, Dean got a call from Bobby. “Hey, kid,” his boss said gruffly. “You ever comin’ back to work?”

Dean chuckled. “I seem to recall you giving me indefinite time off. What, are you feeling a little short-handed over there?”

“Well,” Bobby said reluctantly. “Sam tells me you’re doing better...”

“Sam told you? Huh.” Dean frowned consideringly. “Sure, I mean, I was always planning on coming back eventually. I just don’t know...” His voice trailed off and he glanced out the back door to where his angel was sitting on the deck railing, wrapped up in a huge fluffy coat against the December wind. Dean took a breath and forged on, his tone bordering on the defensive. “I don’t know how Castiel would react to me being gone all day.”

There was only a brief pause, then Bobby grumbled “Well, you can bring him along if you want. But I’d better see you back here first thing tomorrow, all right? You can leave after lunch, but I need all hands on board in the morning.”

Dean raised his eyebrows. “All right. Sounds like a plan.”

As Dean had expected, Castiel was slightly unsettled by the news, but not as much as he would have been a month ago. He trusted Dean completely, and this knowledge made Dean want to do everything he could to be worthy of that trust. Castiel accepted the prospect of coming along to the auto shop with equanimity, if not enthusiasm.

“It’s not even a full day,” Dean assured him, heading for the fridge, the way he did when anything stressed him out. “Just a couple of hours. You’ll probably have a ball looking at all the cars and machinery and stuff. Hey, what the hell...?” He cut himself off in surprise as Castiel took the beer out of his hands and placed it back in the fridge. “What are you doing?”

Castiel gave him a look that clearly said _What does it look like I’m doing?_

Dean frowned. “You’ve never stopped me from having a drink before.”

Castiel raised one eyebrow minutely, something he’d learned from watching Dean.

Dean harrumphed and went to sit down at the table and think about this new development. Castiel came and sat across from him, fixing the tabletop with a glare of concentration. A rather odd-looking but instantly identifiable glass of water appeared in front of Dean.

There was a beat of absolute silence, and then Dean burst out laughing. “You are... freakin’ adorable.” He shook his head, and reluctantly picked up the glass and took a sip. Apparently it was hard to mess up water; this stuff tasted perfectly normal, even if the glass wasn’t quite made of glass. “Okay, I get the point: you’re worried about me drinking too much, or something. Are you sure you and Sam and Bobby and Ellen aren’t in cahoots?”

Castiel gave him a frown that somehow managed to look more like a smile.

Dean mused for a moment. “What about... what if I keep it down to three drinks a day?”

“Two,” Castiel retorted.

Dean sighed dramatically. “Three on Saturdays?”

Castiel narrowed his eyes but then nodded.

“It’s a deal,” said Dean. “And I’d like to remind you at this point that I’ve only had one beer so far today. So, if you don’t mind...?” He looked meaningfully in the direction of the refrigerator and then back at Castiel, who took him completely off-guard by rolling his eyes in reluctant acceptance. Dean laughed in amazement at this new gesture. “I said it before and I’ll say it again,” he announced, getting up from the table. “You are freakin’ adorable.”

***

When they arrived at Singer Auto the next day, Castiel’s eyes got very large, and he tried to follow Dean out the driver’s-side door of the Impala. Dean sighed, already seeing how this day was going to go. He took hold of Castiel’s shoulders with both his hands and pushed him gently back against the car. “Hey. Focus. Look at me.” The angel obeyed, swallowing nervously. “I know it’s a new place with new people, but it’s really not that bad. The important thing is that you don’t get in the way of people who are working, okay? It’s just Bobby, Ash, and Adam... and me, of course. I’ve only got to work for a couple of hours, and we’ll be out of here by two.”

“Bobby,” Castiel said fearfully.

Dean cringed. He’d forgotten that the only time Castiel had met Bobby was when Bobby had been helping to steal Cas away and bring him to the hospital. Not for the first time, Dean wished he knew exactly what had happened that morning, while he was sleeping in blissful ignorance in his bed. “Yeah. Bobby. He’s actually a good guy, I promise. You remember what Sam said? They thought they were helping. And now that we’re technically married––” he let out a huff of laughter, again wondering where Castiel had come up with such a crazy idea–– “Nobody can take you away again. So there’s no need to be scared. Got that?”

Castiel nodded, almost imperceptibly.

“Good man.” Dean clapped his shoulder encouragingly. “Let’s go inside and I’ll introduce you to everybody. What do you say?”

“Okay, Dean,” Castiel whispered, and obediently followed Dean into the garage and through to the office area in the back.

“Yo, Dean’s back,” Ash called from under a Honda that was up on the jack.

“That’s right,” Dean replied with forced cheer. “Cas, this wack job is Ash. Ash, this is my friend Castiel. He’s an angel.”

Ash’s head emerged, forehead streaked with machine oil and mouth hanging slightly open. “Castiel? Hmm. Gotta admit, I’m not familiar with the name. I’ve only read about, uh, Gabriel, Michael, let’s see, Raphael... and one starting with a U... shit, there’ve gotta be more, man...” Still muttering to himself, he disappeared back under the car.

Dean was nonplussed. “Huh. That was easy.” He looked at Castiel, who looked back with trusting eyes.

In the office, Bobby was explaining a new client’s insurance situation to Adam, who looked tired but smiled when he saw Dean. “Hey, man! Long time no see.”

“There you are, finally,” grumbled Bobby. “Took your sweet time gettin’ here, eh?”

“Cas was nervous,” Dean explained. “Castiel, this is Adam, and uh, you’ve met Bobby. Guys, Castiel.” Dean gulped and then repeated “He’s an angel.”

Adam’s eyebrows slowly slid up his forehead. “Uh huh. Nice to meet you, Castiel.”

Bobby came around the desk and held out a hand to Castiel. “Welcome to Singer Auto, kid. Here’s hoping we can wipe the slate clean and start again, yeah?”

Castiel looked worriedly over at Dean, waiting for an encouraging nod before timidly extending his hand to Bobby, who shook it gently. Then, apparently having decided that the sappy moment was past, Bobby stepped back and tugged his baseball cap down harder on his head. “All right, what are we waitin’ for? Adam, you expecting an engraved invitation to kindly get your ass in gear?”

“No, sir!” Adam looked like he was restraining the urge to salute before ducking quickly out of the office.

“Dean, the veedub van out front needs winter tires and a once-over. Use the ones from the shed. Castiel, what are you gonna do?”

The angel’s eyes slid over to Dean again. “I thought I’d just... sit here quietly.”

Bobby looked surprised to hear him speaking. “That’s fine, but you got the run of the place if you want it. Just don’t mess with anything, y’hear me?”

Castiel nodded, and followed Dean out of the office towards the front of the garage. Dean paused by the key hooks to grab the keys to the van he’d be working on, and an idea struck him as he headed outside to find it, his steps dogged closely by the angel. “Hey Cas. You want to help me out with my work a little?”

“Yes,” Castiel said sincerely, seeming quite enthused at the prospect.

Dean began to explain. Half an hour later, two tires had somehow been melded together and were attached firmly to the VW van’s front axle in a manner that made it impossible to drive the van. Dean was on the ground cracking up, and Castiel was ruffled and cross.

“What in the everlovin’ hell is going on here?” barked Bobby from behind them.

Dean stopped laughing instantly and struggled to his feet. “Um, nothing. We just, I just, uh, thought I’d try something...” He trailed off, watching an expression of sheer disbelief appear on his boss’s face as Bobby caught sight of the van’s rather extraordinary tire situation.

After a close examination of Castiel’s attempts at ‘helping’, Bobby turned an ominous gaze on Dean. “Son, I don’t know what you think you’re doing here. I didn’t expect to be on kindergarten duty today, but it looks like I’m gonna have to separate you two. I told you you could leave after lunch, but that’s on the condition that you get some actual work done beforehand. Understood?”

“Yes, sir.” Dean shot Castiel a guilty, conspiratorial glance. “Sorry. I’ll fix it right away.”

“Damn straight you will,” Bobby harrumphed. “Castiel, why don’t you come inside for a while. You must be gettin’ cold out here.”

Dean was tense about leaving Castiel alone while he was outside working, but he needn’t have worried. By the time he finished the job and was able to break for lunch at one-thirty, he hadn’t seen the angel for a couple of hours, but when he stepped into the garage he spotted Castiel and Bobby sitting in the office in the back, a steaming mug in front of each of them. Bobby was gesturing with his hands, talking animatedly about something, and Castiel seemed to have lost his nervousness of that morning and was watching him with interest.

Dean almost didn’t want to disturb them, but he knocked lightly on the doorframe before entering, and Bobby raised his eyebrows in greeting. “So, you idjits ruin that vehicle permanently? Or were you able to salvage it?”

“Ah, shut up,” Dean replied good-naturedly. “It’s fine. Gave it the whole check-up, too. She’s good to go.”

“That’s what I like to hear,” Bobby said approvingly. “Hand over those keys and hit the road. I don’t wanna force your pal Cas to hang around this place any longer. Drop by the Roadhouse for lunch––I promised Ellen I’d send you over. You boys enjoy your afternoon, hear?”

A grin split Dean’s face. “Thanks, Bobby. C’mon, Cas.”

Castiel stood up and nodded politely to Bobby. “I enjoyed our conversation. Goodbye.”

“Back atcha, kiddo,” Bobby answered gruffly.

When they were on the road again, Dean peered over at Cas from the driver’s seat. “So, you ended up talking to Bobby for a while, huh? Didn’t think you’d want anything to do with him.”

Castiel frowned meditatively, staring straight ahead at nothing. “Bobby... is a good man. He might believe. If given the chance.”

“Oh.” Dean hadn’t expected to hear that. “Huh.”

He mulled over Castiel’s words the rest of the way to the Roadhouse, hope battling with fear inside him. He hadn’t really imagined what it might be like if his friends did end up believing in Castiel. He had no idea what might happen. He tried to keep his mind blank. There was no reason to get his hopes up. He wasn’t even sure it would necessarily be a good thing. But when he glanced over at the impassive angel in the passenger’s seat, a spark flared in him anyway.


	17. Chapter 17

At the Roadhouse, Ellen greeted them with more warmth than Dean had been expecting. “Nice to see you boys. It’s been a while. Dean, you been taking care of yourself?”

Dean wasn’t sure how to answer that. “Yeah, I guess. I’ll have a bacon cheeseburger and a beer.”

“A coffee,” Castiel corrected him.

“Right, a coffee,” Dean said with a sigh. He noticed Ellen’s raised eyebrows and glared at her. “What? I misspoke. I wanted a coffee anyway.”

“Sure.” She nodded agreeably and turned her attention to Castiel, her tone noticeably softening. “What about you, hon? It’s on the house.”

Dean frowned. Maybe Sam had been talking to Ellen too? He couldn’t think of anything else that would explain the friendly and contrite attitude both Ellen and Bobby were exhibiting towards him and Castiel.

“I will have what Dean is having,” Castiel said gravely.

Like Bobby, Ellen looked pleased and surprised to hear the angel speaking in full sentences, and Dean looked down to conceal a proud smile.

“You got it, sweetheart. Comin’ right up.” Ellen turned away, and Dean caught sight of Jo at the other end of the bar. He glanced back once more to make sure her mother was out of sight in the kitchen, before returning his gaze to Jo and staring incessantly until she glanced up with a little smirk.

Focusing assiduously on wiping down the bar, she slowly moved in his direction. When she was close enough, Dean lifted his chin in greeting. “Hey.”

“Hey back,” she replied with a glint in her eye. “Haven’t seen you around here for a while. Thought you might have finally gotten yourself killed in that death-trap vehicle of yours.”

“Shut up, she’s a classic!” Dean protested. “You don’t see a gem like that every day.”

“Please,” Jo scoffed, leaning her elbows on the bar. “What do you get, like five miles to the gallon?”

Dean raised a warning finger. “Don’t trash-talk my Baby. If you want to pinch pennies on gas, be my guest and buy a crappy Prius like my brother did. He’s got no taste. The Chevy Impala is a thing of beauty, and I won’t hear you say another word against it. I bet you’ve never even ridden in one.”

Jo shuddered. “No, I don’t have a death wish. Not yet.”

“What’s your problem?” Dean teased. “She runs like a dream. Here, how about this: you let me take you for a ride in her, and after that you can complain all you want. Deal?”

Jo rolled her eyes. “I’m not that easy, Winchester. Put a little effort into it. Hey, who’s this?” Her glance slid over to Castiel.

“Oh, yeah, um, this is my friend Castiel. He’s––”

The angel interrupted him in a calm but firm voice. “Dean and I are married.”

Jo’s eyebrows shot upward. “You’re WHAT?! Um, I mean, that’s super cute!”

At that moment Ellen returned from the kitchen with a plate in each hand and shot Dean a threatening look. “Jo, honey, two coffees. Stat.”

***

Normally Dean liked to savor his food, but after Castiel’s unexpected announcement he wanted nothing more than to get out of this place and escape the amused looks Jo kept sending his way. He gobbled down his burger, barely tasting it, and swigged his coffee, burning his tongue yet again. Castiel instantly reached across the table towards his mouth, but Dean jerked away and said in a gruff tone “You can finish eating in the car. Let’s go.”

In confusion, Castiel left his coffee and plate, carrying his burger with him as he followed Dean out the door. As soon as they were in the car, Dean turned on the music loud, not wanting to talk while on the road.

It wasn’t until they had reached the safety of their house–– _his_ house, he angrily corrected his thoughts––that Dean broke the silence between them. “What the hell was that?!”

Castiel tipped his head and regarded Dean steadily, chewing a mouthful of burger.

“You just up and tell everybody we’re married?” Dean growled. “Just like that? Freaking cock-blocked me, man!”

Castiel frowned in incomprehension. “We are married.”

“No, we’re not married!” Dean shouted. “You just pulled some papers out of your ass SAYING that we’re married so I could get you out of that hospital! It doesn’t mean anything! It’s not real! You can’t be married to somebody without them wanting it! Not without a ring and all that crap.”

The angel was looking more and more unsure of himself. “You smiled when Sam told you about it...”

“Yeah, because it’s like a stupid joke!” Dean shot back. “It’s not a serious thing! I’m not the type to get married. And––” he laughed humorlessly–– “Especially not to you. So don’t do that. Don’t go around telling people shit like that. Okay?”

Castiel stared at Dean in silence for a very long moment before saying, almost inaudibly, “Okay, Dean.”

Dean couldn’t interpret the angel’s expression, so with a snort and a muttered “Okay, great,” he grabbed a beer from the fridge and collapsed on the sofa, digging out the remote and turning on the TV.

Castiel stood still for a few moments and then hesitatingly made his way to the back door, tugging it and the screen door open and closing them behind him. Dean stubbornly refused to look after him. He was probably going to do his weird thing of sitting on the railing for hours on end, now. Dean took a long swallow of his beer.

***

Dean watched TV for a couple of hours, until the sunlight slanting in the windows had made its way up the wall and vanished, and his stomach was rumbling. Turning off the television, he blinked in the sudden dark of the room, and went to flick on the lights. His earlier emotional flare-up had faded, and he felt kind of guilty for yelling at Castiel. Maybe he could make it up to him by cooking him a nice dinner. Maybe Cas would want to help. He seemed to like using his powers to make food. _Quite the domestic angel,_ Dean thought with a little smile.

He went to the back door and peered out, cupping his hands around his eyes against the glass to see better. Castiel didn’t seem to be on the railing after all. Dean frowned, and flicked the switch for the outside light. Nothing happened. “Son of a bitch,” he swore softly, wondering if he had any extra bulbs for the deck light anywhere. He had the sinking suspicion that he didn’t.

Grabbing a flashlight from the kitchen, Dean leaned halfway out the back door and pointed it in various directions. Castiel definitely wasn’t anywhere on the deck, or on the steps. Dean shivered in the wind. Even for December, this was damn cold for California. Giving in, he ducked back inside and grabbed his coat, tugging it on and heading into the backyard. “Hey, Cas? Where are you?” He trudged down the steps to the grass, aiming the flashlight around. “Castiel?”

The pool cover was smooth and still, and the door leading to the storage space under the deck was closed. All the same, Dean opened it and flashed his light inside. No sign of the angel. He was starting to worry, but then a thought struck him. Maybe he had dozed off without realizing it while he was watching TV, and Castiel had come back inside and gone to Dean’s room while he was sleeping. His mind latched onto that possibility with an ardent quickness that Dean refused to analyze. With one final pass over the backyard area revealing nothing, he went back inside and shut the doors tightly behind him.

It only took five minutes to establish that Castiel was nowhere in the house. Dean’s heart began to race. This was deja vu of the worst possible kind. He grabbed the phone and dialed Sam’s number. If they had stolen his angel again, he––he didn’t know what he’d do, but it wasn’t going to be pretty.

Just as he thought it was going to go to voicemail, Sam answered. “Hi, Dean.”

“Did you take him again?”

“What?” Sam didn’t sound defensive, merely confused. “Who?”

“Castiel. Did you take him?”

“No! Why––is he missing?”

“Yeah.” Dean’s legs suddenly felt weak, and he collapsed onto the sofa. He knew his little brother better than anyone, and he could tell when Sam was lying. This was not one of those times. “He... oh shit, Sammy.”

“What? What’s wrong?”

“I said... Goddamn it.” Dean balled his hand into a fist, feeling unwanted tears pricking at the corners of his eyes. “I said some stuff... probably bad stuff. I didn’t realize... I was just mad. Fuck, Sam. I can’t believe he’s gone. I can’t handle this, not again. I didn’t mean the shit I said, I thought he’d understand... Goddamn.”

Sam tried to be comforting, but there’s only so much you can do over the phone. When Dean hung up, his hands were shaking. He could feel his earlier anger returning, but this time it was directed at himself. How could he have been so _stupid_ to say all that stuff? Recalling how he’d yelled at Cas, he felt an almost physical pain. It was as if someone else had taken over control of his mouth and said all those terrible things, and he was only now waking from the nightmare and regaining his senses. He felt like a shitty excuse for a human being.

He remembered how at one point he’d yelled _You can’t be married to somebody without them wanting it!_ and how Castiel’s face had looked at that moment. An ice-water epiphany hit Dean. Had the angel thought... had he thought they actually were a couple? He knew Castiel didn’t understand much about human traditions. Maybe he thought that since he’d landed in Dean’s yard, and Dean had given him clothes and food and a bed, that meant they were as good as married. Dean groaned. He didn’t want to acknowledge the fact that an angel might be in love with him, but as much as he tried to deny it, it was becoming a more and more likely possibility the more he thought about it.

If Castiel loved Dean, and had assumed in his innocence that Dean loved him too, it only made sense that he would create a marriage certificate as the simplest proof of their relationship, when they needed to get him out of the hospital. It was a more significant bond than one of blood, because it was a bond of choice. Castiel had chosen Dean, and by not refusing him, Dean had effectively chosen Castiel as well. And, Dean realized with another jolt of despair, when Castiel had observed Dean’s response to hearing about the marriage certificate from Sam on the phone, he had probably assumed that Dean’s positive reaction meant that he accepted their marriage, not just that he was laughing at how silly it was.

So in Castiel’s eyes they had been a couple, and then Dean had gone and tried to flirt with Jo at the bar, and when Castiel had––quite reasonably, from his point of view––gently tried to reassert his claim, Dean had lashed out in anger, probably confusing and scaring the angel. Dean let out a long hopeless breath and buried his head in his hands. None of this was the worst part, though. The worst part was that, unlike last time, this time Dean had absolutely no idea where to start searching for Castiel. He could be anywhere. He could even––and Dean felt a strange ache in his chest at the thought––he could even have returned to Heaven. Perhaps forever.

Dean went through the rest of the evening in a daze, and lay awake in bed staring at the ceiling for hours before sleep forcibly took him.


	18. Chapter 18

The next morning, Dean clung to unconsciousness until the phone ringing roused him from his bed. In a stupor, he dragged himself down the hall and picked up. “Yeah.”

“What, was a half-day of work enough to make you decide to hang up your boots for good?” came Bobby’s sardonic tones. “Cars that need fixin’ don’t go away just ‘cause you’re not there, you know. Planning on joining us any time soon?”

Hearing Bobby’s voice brought back the events of yesterday in a rush. Dean recalled with painful clarity the image of Castiel attempting to use his powers to put tires on the VW van, and it felt like something inside him was being twisted to the breaking point. He could barely muster the self-control to hang up instead of simply dropping the phone on the floor. Too late, he realized he hadn’t said anything to Bobby. But he didn’t care.

Dean sat down on the floor, took a very long breath, and held it until it felt like his lungs were going to burst. Then he let it out all in one rush, which ended up being more of a sob. He pressed his lips together valiantly for a moment, but then he couldn’t hold it back anymore, and the tears rose unbidden as he ground his fists roughly into his eyes.

For the rest of the day, Dean waited. He couldn’t watch TV, couldn’t even eat, and certainly couldn’t go out, not even for a moment––what if Castiel returned at that precise moment? Dean had to be here for him when he came back.

But Castiel didn’t come back, and Dean waited the whole day in vain, and the next day as well. He stayed waiting on the sofa even when night came, and woke up on the third morning disoriented and stiff from sleeping with his head on the arm of the sofa. Castiel still wasn’t there.

In helpless fury, Dean went outside and got into his car and drove and drove and drove, disregarding stop signs and speed limits, until he got pulled over and given a ticket. He wanted to shout at the policeman _“I had an angel! I had the most wonderful gift any human being has ever been given, and I threw it away like it was nothing! I deserve a hell of a lot more punishment than a speeding ticket!”_ But of course he didn’t. He merely bit back the words and nodded and said “Yes, officer. I understand.”

When he got home that evening, Castiel still wasn’t there. A weird calmness descended on Dean as he completed his brief and pointless search of the house. He dropped his keys on the table by the door, removed his jacket and shoes, kneeled down on the floor in the middle of the room and held his hands together, palm to palm. He closed his eyes and stayed very still for a moment, and then began to speak.

“Dear, ah, God. Hi. I’m Dean. I guess you know that. Um, I’ve never really talked to you before. Sorry for, well, not ever believing in you till now. Actually, I don’t even know if I do believe in you now.”

He winced.

“Shit, sorry. This is being an awful prayer. If it’s any excuse, I really have no clue how people do this stuff. I only wanted to say...”

He swallowed, and pressed his eyes more tightly shut to keep in the tears.

“I wanted to say thank you for sending me an angel. It was the most wonderful thing... the most wonderful thing that ever happened to me. And I know I didn’t appreciate it enough, and I treated him bad. I’m not surprised that he left me. I never deserved an angel in the first place. I don’t know why you gave me one. But I won’t question you. People say––” he chuckled half-heartedly–– “People say you work in mysterious ways, and after what I’ve experienced, all I can say is, they’re damn right. Uh, sorry. Darn right.”

He took a ragged breath, and pressed on.

“Anyway, if there’s any possible chance that I could... if I could get him back, I promise you I would be good to him forever, and never hurt him again, and, and, and love him.” His voice broke, but he kept going, as if the momentum wouldn’t let him stop. “Because I know now that he loved me. Even though I didn’t deserve it. I still don’t. But if you give him back to me, I swear to God––well, you know, to you––that I will do everything in my power, for the rest of my life, to be worthy of being loved by him. So, please. Please, just... Shit.”

Dean faltered, his hands parting and falling to the ground as he collapsed, unable to hold it together anymore. His face contorted in anguish as silent tears poured down his cheeks, and he lay there wrapped up in the smallest possible ball for a very long time, until exhaustion overwhelmed him and he fell asleep.

***

The next morning, Dean was woken up––even more disoriented and stiff than he had been the previous day––by the sound of Sam leaving a voicemail on the answering machine.

“Hey Dean, hope you’re okay, haven’t heard from you in a couple of days. Um, I was just wondering what time Jess and I should get there tomorrow... you know, for Christmas.” He chuckled self-consciously, before continuing in a more serious tone. “That is, if you’re feeling up to it. I know Castiel left, and I thought maybe it would be good for you to distract yourself a little... Jess is really looking forward to having Christmas with us, because she can’t afford to fly back East and see her family. And I thought maybe we could invite Bobby too... if you want. Your call, man.” He took a deep breath. “So, yeah. Let me know how things look at your end. If I don’t hear from you, we’ll just head over there tomorrow around three or so. See you then.”

Grimacing at the pain in his neck, Dean laboriously drew himself up into a sitting position. Every bone in his body was aching. He clambered to his feet and went to look at the clock in the kitchen. It was almost noon. He’d completely forgotten that today was Christmas Eve. Not like it really mattered. He couldn’t remember ever having a year when Christmas had meant so little to him. He hadn’t bought a tree or anything, although he did have some presents from that time when Castiel had convinced him to walk into town, and they’d done some Christmas shopping together. The memory was like a knife to the belly, and he curled up against the pain as if he were being physically attacked.

After a while, he suddenly couldn’t stand being inside anymore. On automatic, he showered, got dressed, and headed out to the car. When he reached the center of town, he parked and got out, with no idea what he was doing. He caught sight of a few tinsel-covered fake Christmas trees in the window of one of the few shops that was still open, and went in, as if in a trance. They were three feet tall, not about to fool anyone but realistic enough to be worth the fifteen bucks. Dean bought one and stuck it in the trunk of the Impala.

Across the street, a small café was open too, so he used it as an excuse to not go home yet. He didn’t know how he’d be able to stand returning once again to a house that held no angel. In the café, he ordered a cup of tea with milk and sugar and sat stirring it dully for a long time, unable to make himself drink it. Finally, as the streetlights were just starting to flicker on, he left the untouched tea on the table and went out into the street again.

It had gotten markedly colder during the past few hours. Dean shivered. The evening was still, so you couldn’t even attribute the cold to windchill. But his nose and fingers were tingling as he crossed to his car. As he unlocked it, he heard two women on the sidewalk talking.

“Wouldn’t it be a riot if we got snow for Christmas?” one of them said enthusiastically.

“Fat chance,” laughed the other. “Last time we got snow in Campbell was like fifty years ago.”

And yet, as Dean drove home, tiny snowflakes began to fall from the sky. At first he only saw them under the streetlights, one here, two or three there. Then a couple of them landed on his windshield. They continued to fall, soft and soundless and sparkling. He pulled into his driveway and got out of the car, mouth half-open in wonder. The snowflakes fell gently on his shoulders and hair and eyelashes, feather-soft touches brushing his skin. Dean was captivated by their absolute silence.

He wasn’t sure how long he’d been standing there in the falling snow when he was jerked out of his reverie by a CRASH that seemed to come from the backyard of his house. He froze for a moment and then dashed up the steps to the front door, unlocked it, and entered the house. Dropping his keys on the table, he went straight to the back door and automatically hit the light switch before remembering that the bulb was dead. “Crap,” he breathed. “Where the hell did I leave the flashlight?”

But as he was turning away from the door to search for the flashlight, something in the backyard caught his eye and made him turn back. A soft white glow was emanating from... from the pool, it looked like. Feeling his heart begin to beat faster, Dean opened the back door and the screen door and stepped tentatively out onto the deck.

On top of the pool was the pool cover, severely dented in the middle. And on top of the pool cover was a dark-haired figure that Dean was able to see clearly, due to the shining white light glowing around it. The snowflakes continued to fall upon him like a benediction as Dean crossed the yard, barely breathing.

Stopping next to the edge of the pool, he finally found his voice. “Castiel?” he whispered.

The figure stirred and shifted and made a small complaining noise. Two huge blue eyes were raised to focus on Dean, and a tiny frown appeared on the angel’s face. “That... was not very comfortable.”

“Oh my God,” Dean breathed. “Cas.” Too stunned to say anything else, he reached out a hand and gently touched the angel’s shoulder. 

“Hello, Dean.” The angel delicately maneuvered himself off of the pool cover until he was standing next to Dean. Some distant part of Dean’s mind noted that Castiel was still wearing the clothes Dean had first given him.

“You came back,” Dean said stupidly.

Castiel lowered his gaze briefly before meeting Dean’s eyes again. “Yes. Before... I thought you didn’t want me.”

“I did, Cas, I’m so sorry,” Dean blurted. “I was wrong, it was just, it was stupid, I didn’t realize that you––I can’t believe I never––”

“Dean,” the angel cut him off gently, with forgiveness in every line of his expression. “I know. I heard your prayer.”

“You––oh.” Dean stopped and dropped his eyes. “You heard...” He could feel heat rising in his cheeks, even though the air was still bitingly cold.

“Yes.” Castiel’s tone was so warm that Dean had to look up again, and when he did, he was instantly overwhelmed by the love that filled the angel’s gaze. He almost couldn’t breathe for a moment, staring into those blue eyes that were fixed on him as if following their own North Star. 

There was a long moment of pure silence as the snow fell around the two of them.

“I never said Amen,” Dean suddenly remembered.

Castiel smiled with his eyes. “The words don’t matter, Dean.”


	19. Chapter 19

Christmas Day dawned bright and cold, if not as cold as Christmas Eve. The small amount of snow that had accumulated the previous evening stayed on the ground well into the morning hours before melting away, but Dean and Castiel weren’t aware of this fact.

Dean had woken up briefly very early, when it was still dark, his heart racing from a nightmare. But before he had even completely reached consciousness, he became aware of a feathery caress brushing over his cheek and shoulder, and two warm arms wrapped around him, and tousled hair tickling the back of his neck. And he sighed in utter contentment and went back to sleep.

Several hours later, he was teased into wakefulness by that same feathery touch. “Dean. Deeeean,” purred a voice still gravelly with sleep. “I made Christmas cocoa.”

“Hmph?” Dean mumbled.

“I seem to recall that the definition of ‘Christmas cocoa’ is ‘hot chocolate with peppermint flavor’,” Castiel continued, as if to himself. “I believe I have achieved this successfully. But I won’t be entirely sure until you’ve tasted it.”

Dean smothered his grin in his pillow, but when his shoulders started shaking with laughter, he couldn’t hide it anymore. He turned over, yawning through his chuckles. “You are a regular chatterbox when you think I’m asleep!” he accused. “Have you been always been able to string words together that prettily?”

Castiel blushed and offered him a mug of hot chocolate. “Taste it, Dean.”

Dean took it and held it in both hands for a moment, enjoying the warmth.

“Taste,” Castiel urged him again.

“You... taste,” Dean grumbled. He was bad at comebacks first thing in the morning. “Maybe I’m worried it’ll burn my tongue, hm?”

“It won’t,” Castiel assured him. “And if it did, I would heal you.”

“Yeah, I guess you would.” Dean allowed himself one completely sappy, adoring smile at his angel, and then took a sip of the cocoa. It tasted almost perfect. Almost. He licked his lips thoughtfully. “It’s good. It’s vaguely reminiscent of...” What was that taste? He couldn’t quite identify it. After another sip, he had it. “Mouthwash!”

Castiel’s eyes went wide in horror.

“No, it’s good!” Dean rushed to reassure him. “Really delicious mouthwash! Yummy, chocolate-y, candy-cane-flavored mouthwash!”

Castiel sighed eloquently and sprawled himself out over Dean’s recumbent form. “You try creating a complex traditional beverage out of nothingness,” he grumbled.

“I’m impressed,” Dean mumbled, setting down the mug and taking advantage of the fact that he could throw his arms around his angel again for no reason other than that he wanted to. “Believe me.”

Castiel’s reply was almost too quiet to hear. “I always have, Dean.”

After a long moment, Dean rolled onto his back and began twisting at his ring. It took him a minute, but he got it off. “Hey, Cas.”

A half-lidded blue gaze found him.

“Give me your hand. No, the other one.”

Castiel obediently offered his left hand and watched uncomprehendingly. “What are you doing, Dean?”

“Giving you your Christmas present. Don’t ask questions.”

***

When they finally dragged themselves out of bed, Dean started some coffee percolating and called his boss.

“Merry Christmas, Bobby! Hope I didn’t wake you up.”

“I’ve been up since sunrise, smartass,” came the reply.

Dean chuckled. “Hey, listen. If you want to swing by here this afternoon, you’re more than welcome. Sam’s coming and bringing his girlfriend Jessica. She can’t fly home to see her folks, so we’re throwing together a little something just for fun. They’ll be over around three.”

“Hmph. All right, since I ain’t got nothin’ better to do,” Bobby allowed. “Do we get a plus-one?”

“Sure, plus whatever,” Dean said generously. “Just don’t bring Ash. That guy could drink me out of house and home.”

Bobby snorted. “No worries, wasn’t exactly who I had in mind. See ya soon, kid.” And he’d hung up before Dean could ask who he was bringing.

***

Late morning soon gave way to early afternoon as they prepared for their guests. Castiel tried making mulled cider, and to Dean’s surprise it turned out even better than the Christmas cocoa. The angel happily generated a huge tureen full of the stuff, whose level never seemed to go down no matter how much got drunk. Leery of Castiel’s magical-cooking skills, Dean instead decided to explain the concepts behind basic ingredients to him, and Castiel managed to produce most of them with no trouble. Dean quickly set about cooking up one of the most classic Christmas meals he’d had in years, and by the time Sam and Jess arrived at ten past three, everything was in full swing. Dean remembered at the last minute that the tiny tree he’d bought yesterday was still in the Impala’s trunk, and he went rushing out to grab it, getting it back into the house just in time before Sam’s Prius pulled into the driveway.

“Here, set that up,” Dean directed Castiel, shoving it into the angel’s hands before turning around to head right back out and greet the new arrivals. By the time the three of them entered the house a few minutes later, the tree had tripled in size and was now a genuine fir, dropping needles on the carpet and everything. Castiel gave Dean a nervous look, clearly hoping he’d done it correctly.

Dean laughed in amazement. “You are... the best thing, Cas.”

Sam’s mouth fell open. “Castiel is back!”

“Yup.” Dean’s grin felt like it was going to split his face. “Got back last night.”

“Huh,” Sam said, beginning to smirk. “So that’s why you’re so happy.”

Castiel’s eyes glowed to hear these words, and Dean simply kept grinning, unable––and unwilling––to argue.

Jess was immediately enchanted by Castiel, and he found her just as interesting as he did everything else in life. Upon being informed that he was an angel, she merely laughed merrily and said “An angel for Christmas! Isn’t that just too perfect?” Dean wasn’t sure if that meant she believed or not, but he was surprised to find himself not caring anymore.

Fifteen minutes later, as the food was just about done, Bobby’s truck pulled up outside. When the doorbell rang, Dean opened the door to find not only his boss but also Ellen and Jo standing on the doorstep.

Bobby shifted awkwardly. “Y’said ‘plus whatever’, and Ellen didn’t want to leave Jo home alone on Christmas, so...”

Dean nodded sheepishly, remembering how foolish he’d acted around Jo the last time they’d met. “Yeah, of course, it’s no problem, come on in.”

“Merry Christmas, Dean.” Ellen gave him a big hug, which surprised him but left him with a dazed smile on his face.

“I’m so looking forward to seeing your charming husband again, Dean,” Jo said, so sweetly that it was all Dean could do to grit his teeth and nod.

He didn’t miss the flash of mischief in her eyes as he beckoned to Castiel. “Cas? Your fan club’s here.”

The angel was somewhat shy at first but quickly relaxed as he and Dean served the food and attempted to find everyone a seat. A couple of people ended up cross-legged on the floor, but nobody cared. (Castiel kept looking at Jo and Jess, and at one point he drew Dean aside to whisper into his ear “Why is their hair so beautiful?” which sent Dean into a long, badly-disguised laughing fit. “You like blondes, huh?” he asked finally, still choking on his laughter. “Should I be jealous?” Castiel shook his head quickly. “There will never be any reason for you to be jealous, Dean.”)

What remaining tension there had been between Dean, Sam, Bobby, and Ellen soon dispersed for good in the friendly atmosphere, which only got friendlier when Ellen and Jo revealed that they’d brought along several bottles of strong homemade eggnog. Castiel didn’t let Dean have more than two glasses. (After all, it wasn’t Saturday.)

At one point, Jess was animatedly telling them all a hilarious story about how the alpacas on her parents’ farm had escaped one Christmas morning. As Dean leaned back on the sofa and moved a bit closer to Cas, casually draping an arm around his angel’s shoulders, he noticed Sam looking over at them. His little brother’s mood was understandably lightened by the atmosphere and the eggnog, but that wasn’t all that was reflected in Sam’s thoughtful gaze. Sam glanced from Dean to Castiel, who was resting his head on Dean’s shoulder, and then back to Dean. The look in Sam’s eyes at that moment was one that Dean had never seen before: almost a look of wonder, as in the face of one who beholds a miracle.

Dean looked steadily back at his brother, and offered him a tiny smile and a raise of his eyebrows, which was answered with an affectionate look Dean hadn’t realized he’d missed so much. Sam’s eyes slid over to Castiel one more time and then back to Dean, and he nodded slightly, just enough for Dean to see it. Dean felt something deep inside him relaxing, something he hadn’t known was tense because it had been that way for so long.

In that moment, he understood exactly what Castiel had meant when he’d said “Belief, Dean. Not proof.” This sudden understanding wasn’t something Dean could put into words. But as he glanced down at the angel sleeping on his shoulder, he thought... he didn’t really have to.

_~ fin ~_


End file.
